


when did your heart go missing?

by andsmile, monicaposh



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gossip Girl Fusion, Archie Andrews Needs a Hug, Chaos and Drama, Controversial Attitudes, Everyone is Frenemies, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Multiships, Mutual Pining, Redemption, Slow Build, Slow Burn, TW: Panic Attacks, multicharacters, respectful to barchie but this is not a barchie fic, tw: cheating, tw: mental disorders, tw: mental health issues, tw: recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 155,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsmile/pseuds/andsmile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicaposh/pseuds/monicaposh
Summary: After a year away, Veronica Lodge mysteriously rolls back into town, shaking up everything in her wake. Wanna know more? Follow the @blueandgold for the latest tea on the scandalous lives of Manhattan's Elite.or, the gossip girl AU you didn't know you needed.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews & Reggie Mantle, Archie Andrews & Toni Topaz, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Reggie Mantle, Cheryl Blossom & Betty Cooper, Cheryl Blossom & Veronica Lodge, Cheryl Blossom/Donna Sweett, Cheryl Blossom/Veronica Lodge, FP Jones II/Hermione Lodge, Josie McCoy/Sweet Pea, Kevin Keller & Veronica Lodge, Veronica Lodge/Reggie Mantle
Comments: 414
Kudos: 194
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards — Winners!





	1. #veronicaisback

**Author's Note:**

> One day, Vik went to Emily and said: "so, if our alternate selves were to write a Gossip Girl AU...", and well. Here we are. Brace yourself for the crazy story we have planned. While the "pilot" and the premise is similar, this fic will not follow the exact storyline, we tried to adapt it and make it as much as in-character as we could.
> 
> Please keep in mind that is not Barchie friendly, exploring multiships and frenemies, and don't ignore the trigger warnings. Enjoy 💖

**— thought it was me and you, babe**  
**me and you until the end, but i guess i was wrong —**

It starts the same way it ended: alone at the train station.

Veronica started seeing less of the vast green acres in New England and more of the sky-scraping buildings as New York came into focus. The closer she got to the city, the less peaceful her thoughts.

She leaves the train, already wanting to hop into another one and run back to the literal hills.

Her palm is sweaty around her luggage handle as she crosses the platform. The feeling of being constantly recognized — something that she honestly thought she’d forgotten in the past year — comes back at full force as soon as she walks into the main hall. One would think that it’s impossible to feel like this in a big metropolis like New York, where so many different people are dealing with so many different things, but that’s how it is for her. That’s how it’s always been. She knows she’ll be a feature in the Blue and Gold any minute now.

After all, she’s a Lodge. It might not have meant too much back in Hanover, but it does in New York City. It always will.

With a deep breath to steel herself, Veronica looks around the people expectantly watching for the passengers who just arrived. There’s a man waiting for his two lanky kids who he hugs cheerfully. There’s a girl waiting for her boyfriend with a sign in hand. It’s cheesy and stupid — _HAPPY YOU’RE BACK_ surrounded by many colorful hearts — but it makes Veronica feel vaguely jealous. She’s not sure if anyone will be that happy _she’s_ back.

She finds Andre, the family’s driver, shortly after that. He walks in her direction and welcomes her with a very polite smile. He takes her bag for her and, with a tilt of his head, says that her mother instructed him to take her to the Blossom’s penthouse— there’s some event she’s attending.

Veronica clenches her jaw before following him.

 _Great,_ she thinks. _Right into the fucking lion’s den._

* * *

_hi, upper east siders. **@blueandgold** here, and we have the piping hot tea for you on this blessed sunday. **spotted:** at grand central, bags in hand, **#veronicalodge**. wasn’t it only a year ago our girl disappeared for “boarding school”? and, suddenly, she’s back! don’t believe me? see for yourself. lucky for us, everyone’s already talking._

* * *

“This dress looks beautiful on you, Betty,” Kim says. Almost immediately, Betty smooths down imaginary wrinkles on the blue skirt.

“Thanks, Kimmy. Cheryl gave it to me,” she smiles as her cheeks get warmer. “It’s one of her mom’s last season designs.”

Cheryl, who’s in another circle nearby, seems to pick up Betty saying her name. She turns around slightly, swirling the champagne in her flute with a curl on her red lips. Betty’s lips are pink like they often are, but her hair is down today, falling on her shoulders in waves, off its customary ponytail. She remembers the day Cheryl gifted her the dress, the way she said _not everyone can pull off a Penelope Blossom original._

“Well, I love it.” Kim smiles and then doesn’t say anything else, like her interest in Betty stopped with the information about the dress.

Betty stands there with the cocktail she shouldn’t be drinking and waits for something to happen. On the Upper East Side, it’s always a matter of waiting.

She observes the different groups in the Blossom’s stuffy living room — businessmen sipping whiskey, their wives aggressively keeping tabs on the latest gossip, their kids having another excuse to drink alcohol before they’re legal. There’s indistinct chatter over all the noise the caterers end up making.

Her phone buzzes inside the clutch under her arm. It buzzes in Kim’s hand too. Betty sees all the teens around her turning their attention to their phones. She feels compelled _not_ to look, but she’s already starting to open her purse when someone, somewhere, says, “ _Oh, my God._ _Someone saw Veronica at Grand Central!”_

Betty’s heart vaults into her throat, so fast she feels like throwing it up.

_“Veronica? Are you for real?!”_

The acidic bile starts to rise as people around her gasp in wonder.

_“It’s in the Blue and Gold, I swear!”_

Without thinking it through, she marches away from the living room, finding the restroom. She can feel Cheryl’s eyes on her all through the way, but she doesn’t really care.

_“I heard she had an abortion.”_

_“Nah, they said she had the baby.”_

Once the door is locked, Betty takes a deep breath and pulls her phone out of her purse. She uses one hand to brace herself on the granite countertop while unlocking the screen. There are a bunch of Twitter notifications from the Blue and Gold — no matter how much she talked herself into _turning them off_ , she always turned them back on — and they all say the same thing.

_Veronica is back!_

There’s proof in the picture that follows. Her once best friend standing in the center of the station, her black hair longer, her clothes _different_. She looks lost. She looks like she doesn’t belong anymore.

She looks older.

Her breath gets so uneven that her lungs begin to burn. They only stop when she curls her hands into tight fists.

The sharp edges of her nails graze along the toughened heels of her palms.

Betty hasn’t talked to Veronica in a year, not since Oliver Mantle’s wedding last fall.

She focuses on her breathing as the pressure relieves just slightly at the piercing contact on her skin. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she finally finds a deep breath and starts to settle her nerves.

Using the expensive soap and a soft towel hanging on the wall, she cleans herself up before walking back into the party to find Archie.

Everyone is still whispering.

_“Did you see the pic? I’m sure she had nose surgery.”_

_“Veronica? Why would she need that?”_

_“Veronica had a boobjob.”_

_“Did you see what she was wearing?”_

_Veronica, Veronica, Veronica._

Betty needs to get out of here.

Veronica stands in the elevator she rode so many times before, ascending to the top floor of the Blossom’s home. Her heart rate quickens with each passing second. The brass door slides open and she steps out in the foyer.

Thankfully, it’s a bit deserted as she hears the faint echoes of voices from further inside the home. She moves across the marble floor and sees the silhouette of her mother, talking to a few familiar faces.

“Mom!” Veronica says. “Mom?” A little louder.

Hermione Lodge turns to greet her. She definitely lost some weight since Veronica last saw her — there’s a pinched hollowness in her face that Veronica doesn’t remember from twelve months ago.

“Veronica, darling,” Hermione smiles with brief hesitation before extending her arms and bringing her in for a hug.

She breathes in the familiar scent of her mother’s perfume and is hit with the realization that she’s really back.

“Mom, are you okay?” Veronica asks, pulling back, worried. Her gaze falls to her mother’s hands and to the champagne glass Hermione is holding. _What the fuck?_ “What the f— you can’t drink! The doctor—”

“Oh, _please_ , Veronica,” Hermione dismisses before Veronica actually says something. She glances at the other people she’s been talking to. She’s still smiling, but her eyes go ice cold when she looks back at her daughter. “There’s no reason for concern, Mija. It was a minor procedure,” she says loud enough so everyone around them hears it.

_Procedure?_

Veronica takes a step back, knitting her eyebrows together. It’s been a year since she had to tread careful steps to avoid social mishaps, and she doesn’t really manage to keep a blank expression.

Hermione pulls her daughter aside with a firm grip on her arm like she’s always done to warn her not to push any further.

“Why don’t you go talk to your friends? I’m sure everyone’s excited to see you. We’ll finish this at home.”

Veronica sighs. If she turns around to leave _now,_ she _may_ not see anyone.

“Home? You mean our _makeshift dwelling_ at the Five Seasons?”

The slits in her mother’s eyes make it clear the discussion is over.

“It’s like I always tell Archie,” Mary says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “ _It’s not because you’re an only child, that you won’t have to work hard_.”

Archie frowns. He can’t recall one single time his mom told him that.

Her fellow lawyers think it’s an astounding joke. They even clink their bourbon glasses together. “To hard work!”

His mom laughs, following their lead and adding her own cocktail glass to the bundle. Archie doesn’t know if they’re laughing at the joke or _at him_. Either way, he cheers along, if only to support his mom — it’s what he’s expected to do whenever he puts on structured suits on a Sunday afternoon.

Archie’s attention starts drifting elsewhere as a waiter passes them. He wonders if he should eat just to have something else to do. That’s when Betty springs into their semi-circle with a hand on his forearm.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Andrews.” She smiles at his mother, the same sweet smile she perfected when they were little kids. “Would you mind if I borrowed Archie?”

Mary shakes her head and mumbles something about _teenagers_ with a chuckle, telling Archie she’ll see him later at home.

Betty steers him into the nearest hallway and lowers her hands to link them with his. She holds on a little too tight.

“Is there anything wrong, Betty?” He asks, noting the change in her face when they’re alone.

She shakes her head and he sees how she schools her expression into something bright and happy. “I just want to get out of here.”

Archie would not like to endure another conversation similar to the one he just had and leaving doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

“Ok,” he agrees easily. Whatever’s going on with her, she doesn’t want to tell him, so he’s not going to make too much of an effort. Maybe she truly just needs some fresh air. “Let’s go.”

They hold hands through the Blossom’s home. Betty is focused on her phone while Archie sees a few of his classmates huddled in groups talking excitedly about something — probably another Blue and Gold blast that he doesn’t care about.

When they get to the front, Betty puts her phone in her bag and says she’ll get their coats. She leaves him with a soft kiss on his cheek.

Archie shoves his hands into his pockets — his mom would say something about _creases_ and _this isn’t appropriate_ and the circle of attorneys would laugh as usual — as he waits. He’s glad to cut the afternoon short — he and Betty have been steadily saving each other from suffering through these events for almost ten years, now.

He takes a deep breath. Later, he will think that the air he inhaled was _different,_ thinner, and that he was a fool for not noticing. That he should’ve thought that _nothing else_ would get everyone so buzzed with expectation. That he should’ve known, should’ve _felt it_.

But that’s not what happens. He just takes a deep breath, another one exactly like the numerous others he took that afternoon, and as he’s exhaling, he sees her. Coming in his direction like she’s ready to leave too, like she can’t wait to run away.

Again.

Archie’s heart probably stops when he sees Veronica. _She_ stops too, dead in her tracks, and her wild eyes betray the same panic in his.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

She’s back.

 _She—_ it’s been what? Eleven months, twelve-days, that we’re still counting until this very moment? He’s seen all four seasons go by in her absence.

Archie’s heart beats again and it’s exactly the same way it did one year ago. It’s been too long.

But _not long enough_ , apparently.

The very last person she expects to come face-to-face with is _him_. All-American, red hair, hard edges, soft eyes.

_Archie Andrews._

Of all people, she was hoping she’d be a bit more prepared for this particular run-in. Maybe even having some sort of explanation to offer him. He certainly deserves one. She thought about it every day but was never able to come up with anything that wouldn’t _hurt_.

She freezes at the weight of his eyes on her with, unfortunately, nowhere left to run.

There’s a hardness in his honey irises, staring her down. But then it softens like it always did, and his lips part. She mirrors his motion, gasping for air.

“Veronica Lodge!”

A flurry of red appears in her peripheral as Cheryl Blossom saunters into the foyer announcing her name, heels clicking against the floor. Veronica is suddenly overwhelmed as everyone from her past fills the small space around her, confirming her return.

Not too long ago, she spent her Sundays in this very penthouse, drinking cosmos with Cheryl after brunch.

Now, she feels foreign to something that once felt like home.

The redheaded girl smirks in her direction, tilting her head to the side playfully. “I heard whisperings you were back. Are you staying? We could add a seat to the table.”

Veronica can’t tell whether it’s meant to be endearing or threatening. But that’s typical of Cheryl, the so-called fire to her ice.

“No, I—” She looks past her at Archie, which is a mistake. He still has his eyes pinned on her like he can’t believe she’s actually back. Veronica can’t believe it either. Cheryl, in the foreground, raises one eyebrow. “I have to go. _Unpack_ ,” she tries a smile, placing her hands on Cheryl’s arms for a brief moment. “I just came by to say hello. I’ll see you guys at school.”

Behind Cheryl, a girl in a blue dress walks into the room, standing next to Archie. Her green eyes widen as she meets Veronica’s.

Her heart accelerates. She can’t handle seeing Archie _and Betty_ right now. She _needs_ to leave this room.

“See you at school, then,” Cheryl says with a flick of her hair. “Toodles!”

* * *

_uh-oh, word is v yeeted from **#cherylblossom** ’s party after only 90 seconds and even ignored **#bettycooper**. she also ignored the cocktails! has our bad girl gone good? or is it all part of the act? why did she leave? why did she return? follow **#veronicaisback** for the latest scoop!_

* * *

Veronica feels better, though still unsettled as she unpacks in her new room.

Their suite at the Five Seasons is beautiful and spacious but it’s not The Pembrooke. She ordered sushi carry out and decided to lock herself away for the rest of the night, zero desire for any more reunions. Veronica finds herself grateful for the new cell phone, leaving her number a mystery to most.

Maybe she got used to being alone.

It’s bizarre being in the city again, how there’s never-ending noise in the background, like she’s back in the eye of the storm. Hanover was truly so _quiet_. It felt like she could hear her own thoughts for the first time in her life.

Here in New York, they’re always muffled by feelings she shouldn’t be feeling and a million possible missteps.

It’s going to be different now. She’s been promising herself that since she left New Hampshire behind, turning a new leaf. She’s been trying to change and coming back is her final test to prove to herself that she _can_ , no matter what everyone else thinks.

Except she’s been back for less than three hours and she already fucked up. _She knows_ she shouldn’t have run away before even saying _hi_ to Betty, but it was pure instinct. She wouldn’t know what to say, even if she’s been practicing it in her mind ever since she’s decided to come back.

_I’m sorry. I love you._

Something along these lines.

And Archie…

She’s not going to think about Archie right now.

Veronica keeps an eye on the clock, waiting for her mother to return. She takes a hot shower after eating and flows through the steps of her nightly skincare routine. When she hears the front door click open, she ties her robe a little tighter and pads out to the living room in her satin slippers.

“Mom?” She tries.

Her mother jumps, hanging her coat up on its hanger. “Mija,” she breathes. “You startled me.”

She’s probably not used to anyone else being in her home at such late hours, not since Hiram moved to Miami and Veronica left for boarding school.

Well, her mother is not alone anymore, and Veronica will make damn sure that she understands that.

“Why were you drinking earlier? Dr. Shermann made it very clear that you shouldn’t be around these things! Everything could trigger your—”

Hermione sighs, exasperated, before Veronica can say the word _addiction_.

“It was just a glass of champagne at a social event. If I _don’t_ drink, rest assured that everyone will think something happened to me. And honestly, Veronica, I’m _fine._ I’ve been fine, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

 _You weren’t here_ is what she means.

“This isn’t fair,” Veronica says, feeling her pulse in her throat. “It’s not my fault you only decided to _inform me_ that you were checked into the Phoenix Center for _two weeks_ only when you left.”

“Funny. Didn’t you decide to inform me you were enrolling in boarding school once you were already there?”

Veronica runs a hand through her hair. “Mom. I don’t wanna fight,” she says, channeling all the things she tried to teach herself while she was away. “I just want you to be okay.”

Hermione smiles tenderly, the way she does sometimes. She reaches out to touch Veronica’s face. “I _am_ okay, Mija. You should get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“I heard Veronica Lodge made an appearance at the Blossom’s yesterday.” Her mother pries from her place at the door.

Betty pulls her ponytail tight and meets Alice’s eyes in the reflection of her vanity mirror. “ _Heard_?” She makes a face, quite certain that this means her mom is reading the Blue and Gold. _Again._

“That girl is bad news, Betty. And after everything that happened with Polly, I—“

Betty scoffs. “Veronica didn’t even talk to me last night. So you don’t have to worry.”

She doesn’t feel good about their encounter. Or lack thereof.

Veronica fled from the party just like she fled from the city one year ago, and Betty couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with her. It’s something she’s always wondered about.

One day, she and Veronica were best friends, _sisters_ , and the next she was gone. During the course of her sophomore year, Betty experienced anger, bitterness and confusion trying to understand why V would just leave without saying goodbye. Without a reason why.

Alice raises an eyebrow at her daughter and leaves to make a call down the hall.

Today Betty wears a navy dress, paired with a long sleeve knit sweater, something appropriate to her Spence dressing code. She swipes a layer of her barely-there pink lipgloss and strategically pulls the sleeves down over her bruised palms.

Reaching over to her dresser to get her phone, she sees there’s still no response from Archie.

He walked her home once they left Cheryl’s, both kind of quiet after seeing their old friend. Somehow, even though they hadn’t _truly_ talked about Veronica’s absence throughout the entire year, Betty always felt like he was the one who _got it_. Other people were caught up in the mystery of her leaving, but it was just gossip to them. They didn’t _really_ care.

But Archie did. Archie missed her as hard as Betty.

Veronica didn’t talk to him either. It makes Betty feel uneasy, even though she doesn’t understand why.

Looking at the time on her phone, she realizes she has only thirty minutes until she has to meet the girls at the steps for their morning tradition. She opens her drawer to get the bottle of prescription pills, swallowing one with what’s left in the water glass on her nightstand.

 _I’m not Polly_ , she thinks when the pill hits her stomach.

It’s another morning tradition.

Veronica barely sleeps that night. The minimal slumber isn’t peaceful, and she’s up at the crack of dawn, before her mom. Shoving the duvet aside, she gets up and decides to take advantage of her proximity to Central Park.

She started running around the same time she _ran away_ , which is quite poetic when putting into words. There was a lot of _space_ in Hanover, a lot of nature. There, she traded her favorite stilettos for flat boots and sneakers so she could feel her feet on the ground. She started jogging to organize the mess inside her head — she read about it in a Women’s Health magazine — and was surprised when it actually worked.

She’s been trying to do it constantly ever since.

It’s a brisk, October day, skies grey with minimal sun already. Most people would take advantage of one more hour in bed but Veronica has grown to find comfort in the stillness of the morning, being alone with her thoughts as she tries to work through them.

And she finds herself needing mental clarity now more than ever.

The park welcomes her like it always did. Only some crazy people like her are up and exercising, but that doesn’t mean it will go unnoticed — Veronica is sure that, at some point, she sees someone with their phone out and pointed at her. The picture will probably be in the Blue and Gold very soon.

She runs until the sports watch on her wrist starts vibrating, letting her know that she reached her daily goal. The sun is moving higher in the sky, though barely visible behind a thick layer of white clouds. She buys a water bottle at a magazine stand and crosses at 59th to go back to the hotel.

She stops halfway through the patio when she notices a certain redheaded boy standing by the revolving doors. Archie is already wearing his Stonewall uniform — a navy jacket over a white shirt and a blue and gold tie around his neck, his backpack hanging on one shoulder.

Veronica bites her lower lip. She _swore_ that she wouldn’t pull the same shit from yesterday again, so she ignores the coil in her stomach and removes her AirPods, approaching him.

“Archie?” She calls.

He turns around, looking as surprised to see her as she is to see him, and it’s almost endearing, the way his eyes widen. “Hi,” he says, and then his gaze drops to her outfit and her sweaty state. His eyebrows crease. “Were you exercising?”

Veronica can’t help but let out a laugh. “Yeah. Figured I needed to start someday, so.”

He nods. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips that Veronica doesn’t allow herself to look at for too long. She sees the way his knuckles are white around his backpack strap and waits for him to say something.

 _Anything_.

“I went to The Pembrooke, but the doorman told me that you guys relocated to the Five Seasons.” His thick eyebrows motion towards the hotel’s entrance.

“We’re renovating again,” Veronica explains. It’s a half-lie. If they hadn’t majorly fucked up, maybe she’d tell him the whole truth — that her mom got addicted to tranquilizers to a point where she quite literally ripped off the walls of their apartment. There was a time when Archie would’ve been the only person, besides Betty, to know. “You know my mom. If it’s not broken, break it.”

Archie chuckles, smiling in that easy way of his, something Veronica almost forgot. She hates that her most recent memory of that smile is something that she cannot think about again.

Veronica presses her lips together in a thin line as she watches him struggle with whatever he’s really thinking.

“Archie—”

She starts, and it seems enough to make him gather the courage he needs. “I think— I wanted to see how you were,” he says, nervously. “You left so fast yesterday. You seemed kind of upset, too. Is everything okay?”

Veronica hates the memories she cannot have but she also hates the ones that she _can_ — Archie being her friend, Archie taking care of her with no questions asked, Archie, showing up at her doorstep after one year of radio-silence so he can _check on her_.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” she murmurs and knows that she _can’t_ let them do this. She can’t give them enough time to do this. “I gotta go,” she says, already going, “I have to get ready for school or I’m gonna be late.”

Veronica turns around to leave and feels his hand on her wrist. Just barely, just grazing. It makes her want to cry.

“Ronnie—”

“No,” she turns back to him, shaking her head firmly. “No. We can’t do this.”

“But you’re back now,” he says, searching her face with pleading eyes. Veronica isn’t sure of what he’s asking for, but she’s sure of what she cannot give him.

“I didn’t come back for you.”

It stings. She can see it in his eyes how much and he seems out of words for a long moment.

Veronica’s heart feels tight and she searches her mind for all the things she wanted to tell him when she was away. The words end up coming out in a rush, like ripping off a bandaid, not at all like the careful phrases she formed inside her head all this time. “Look, Betty is my best friend and you’re her boyfriend, and she loves you,” she blurts out and sustains her eyes on his. _That’s how it always was. That’s our entire lives._ “That’s the way things are supposed to be.”

She sits at her designated spot on the cold, concrete steps of the MET. One of the younger minions arrives with a carrier of coffee while other rifles through the completed invitations all organized to be distributed to their classmates today.

Cheryl is seemingly pleased with the calligraphy, hand-drawn by one of the new girls with artistic talent.

Everyone’s been talking about the upcoming Kiss on the Lips party, a benefit gala hosted by the upperclassmen to raise money for the Central Park Conservatory.

As juniors, it’s the first year they’ve taken on the fundraiser’s planning.

Betty makes a mental note to have Archie book the limo and pick up champagne for Wednesday night, hoping he hasn’t forgotten about the party entirely. It’s been hours since she reached out to him and she still has yet to hear back.

Cheryl interrupts her racing mind to offer a cherry from her bowl, the only fruit she’ll eat for breakfast.

Sitting on these steps to gossip before school and tan during lunch break has been a tradition for years. _The Queen Bees_ of Spence have been bringing their cliques here since the eighties.

She remembers coming here during Freshman year when Polly was looking for someone to take her throne. Betty — as similar as she was in appearance to her sister — never really was _Queen Bee_ material. She was liked well enough by the others, but not _adored._ She was pretty and cute, but not _amazing_. She never thought she’d get her sister’s spot and she watched as Cheryl Blossom became the perfect queen prototype.

When the time came for Polly to pass on the crown, it was perhaps a surprise that she chose Veronica as the new ruler. But it _wasn’t_ , not to Betty, who knew that people would gravitate towards her best friend like she was the sun.

Or a black hole.

Several noteworthy moments from her early teenage years took place on these very steps; telling the girls when Archie asked her to go to the winter formal and the time Veronica staged a photoshoot with her royal court for her coronation to be featured in The Register, the school’s paper.

Betty also remembers coming here to comfort Veronica with hot chocolate and truffles when she found out her parents were getting divorced and crying to her friend when things in the Cooper household started getting complicated.

“—and what about Veronica?”

“Hello? Betty?”

She shakes off her thoughts and finds a few sets of eyes looking wide at her.

“The party? Did we agree not to invite Veronica?” Cheryl asks with a sly smile on her red lips, wrapping a golden lock from Betty’s ponytail around her finger.

“Invite me to what?”

Betty’s head whips around, looking to Veronica who eclipses the sun entirely.

She’s not wearing her usual attire of flashy stilettos or bejeweled headbands. Instead, her plaid skirt is paired with black opaque tights and knee-high leather riding boots. It’s not the same as it would have been, but somehow Veronica has always managed to look beautiful, trying hard or not.

“Hey, V,” Cheryl pipes up from behind. “The Kiss on the Lips party. And you’re kinda not invited.”

Betty lifts her head and is met with the deep-set eyes of her former best friend and she feels bad, anxious with the impending confrontation between Cheryl and Veronica.

The raven-haired girl pushes her sunglasses to sit atop her head and narrows her eyes at Cheryl.

Betty feels the need to speak up. “To be fair, until twelve hours ago everyone thought you were still MIA.”

“And now, we’re at max capacity.” Cheryl bites.

Veronica smiles sweetly and it makes Betty’s heart clench. “Don’t worry, girls. I’m not in the mood for that anyway,” her dark eyes fix themselves back on Betty. “Hey, B. Yesterday was crazy, but I was thinking maybe we could catch up tonight? After school?”

“I have plans with Archie.” She lies through her teeth.

There’s _something_ in Veronica’s eyes that Betty can’t quite pinpoint. It truly looks like she’s not here to fight. Betty doesn’t know why she expected ferocity. “That’s okay. Just half an hour before you meet him. A drink at The Maple Club?”

Betty sustains Veronica's gaze. "I guess I can find a window," she says, feeling her nails trying to sink into the styrofoam from her coffee cup. “Eight o’clock?”

“Perfect.”

And with that, the former Queen moves down the steps as if they’ve never belonged to her before.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _at the steps of the MET, v might not have the crown anymore, but she wants her lady-in-waiting back. did v think she could waltz home and things would be just like they were before? will b show up or will she stay true to the new queen? you won’t know if you don’t follow **#veronicaisback**_

* * *

He sits on the bench to tie his sneakers. The common sounds of the locker room — metal clinking, shower running, laughter — are somehow soothing. He's tired after the hour and half soccer practice, the kind of exhaustion that sets into your bones.

For ninety glorious minutes, his mind was blank, working in his body's favor. But now Veronica's words are creeping back in like they did the whole day.

_That's the way things are supposed to be._

Maybe she was right, but Archie can't understand who set their futures in stone for them. His parents, unlike many others in his social circle, don't care about who he dates — even though that had always been Betty. And yes, Betty was Veronica's best friend but Veronica left her, anyway, didn't she? Archie knows he’s at least part of the reason to blame for her absence, but still, during the past year, he took comfort in Betty's sadness, as if it was a shield for his own.

Archie has imagined a million different scenarios about seeing Veronica again and talking to her again. From the most absurd, that involved him hopping onto a train and following her to the ends of the Earth to knock on her door, to the most reasonable ones — a phone call, an apology although he's not sure who's the real asshole — he thought about _how_ their next encounter would be.

In none of them did she look at him and tell him that nothing was supposed to change.

Last night was already a mess — she left so fast, it was like she was never there, and if it wasn't for Betty's quietness on the way home, he'd think she was only a hallucination. But there was a moment there, a fraction of a second, that it was just _them_ , and he felt like...

Reggie claps a hand to his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.

“V’s looking really hot,” he shows Archie his phone. There’s a Blue and Gold post with her jogging this morning. “Don’t you think?”

His heart rate picks up as he remembers the sweat beads on her neck and her shapely hips in the tight leggings. As the blast noted, no one’s ever seen her exercising before. Maybe she really is different.

“I have a girlfriend.”

He thinks about the texts from said girlfriend that he hasn’t answered ever since last night, and guilt stirs in his stomach.

“Yeah, but it’s _Veronica_. Not a single guy here would turn her down. “

Archie forces a grin, remembering Reggie’s casual relationship with Ronnie, and how they were always so comfortable with each other. “Shut up, Reg.”

“Why so moody, Andrews? Need to get laid?” Archie grits his teeth and doesn’t answer. His asshole of a friend just shakes his head. “You haven’t sealed the deal with Betty yet and you’ve been dating forever.”

Archie peers around the room, making sure no one is eavesdropping on this conversation.

And yeah, it’s something he’s thought about too. They’ve tried a few times but something would always happen — Alice Cooper would gracefully interrupt them and send him off, or Betty would get nervous and insecure, or his mind just drifted away and he felt like a jerk. Making out seems to be enough for her and Archie doesn’t want to pressure her. Betty has always been good to him. He wants to make her happy.

But it does make him wonder why he’s so unhappy. It’s not the sex part, it’s just that somehow, for a long time now, happiness always seems to be out of reach for him.

“Don’t you ever feel like we’re not really in control of our lives?” Archie asks, making Reggie frown. “Shouldn’t we be entitled to choose, be happy?”

Reggie makes a face. “Dude, I'm talking about you getting down and dirty with your lady and you come at me with some Fausto shit?” He laughs.

Archie feels stupid — he should've known that Reggie isn't the right person to talk to about anything.

“Okay, okay,” Reggie goes on in the face of Archie’s grimace. “What I have to say is: maybe you're not entitled to be happy, but you are entitled to tap that ass.”

At eight sharp, Veronica sits in the Maple Club for the first time in a year. They used to come here regularly during the week, feeling rebellious sipping liquor on school nights. The bartender never gave a shit about their fake IDs, as long as they also had their credit cards in hand.

Her nerves have her slightly on edge, but she thinks that this was the right move. She wanted to show Betty that she had the best intentions and that she meant no harm anymore. It probably wouldn’t be an easy task, but she’s ready to take it, especially after this morning.

Squashing any of the expectations starting to bloom in Archie’s mind about her return was definitely for the best. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk away from him until she did, and while her heart is heavy, she has no regrets.

After school, she went back to the Five Seasons to work on some early homework and shower before meeting Betty. She spent a good ten minutes scanning through her clothes, a mixture of new and old — between the suitcases and the boxes labeled with her name on them, everything was so messy — before deciding on her favorite leather pants and a cream blazer.

The bartender stops by again to check if she’s ready for a drink. Looking down at her phone, she notes Betty is late, which is something very out of character for her friend. Maybe Veronica isn’t the only one who changed.

She’s about to text and check in when she sees the blonde walking through the entrance. Betty definitely seems more sure of herself than a year ago — her clothes are different, fewer pastels, more color. She looks beautiful. Veronica misses her to the point that her heart hurts when she realizes that Betty came.

She leans over the granite counter and beckons the bartender back. “We’ll take two _Thank Me Tomorrow_ s, please. Loads of charcoal.”

Betty finally makes her way to the bar and leans in for a brief hug. She smells the same, like vanilla, or freshly baked sugar cookies. It sends Veronica back to being twelve years old and comfortably finding her match in Betty Cooper.

But the hug is not as comforting as Veronica imagined. If anything, it feels a little awkward. She shakes it off, blaming it on their year apart.

The cocktails arrive and she slides one to Betty, who shoots her a disapproving look, even though there’s a shadow of a smile on her pink lips when she notices the drink choice. Veronica laughs at her friend and raises her glass for a toast.

“To B and V, together again!” She cheers.

They take a sip. The drink tastes as delicious as Veronica remembers. “I’m glad you came,” she tells Betty. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Me neither,” Betty sighs. She’s wearing her hair down and a burnt orange blouse with thin straps. “But I figured that I’d like you to come, if things were reversed, so…”

“I’m happy you’re here,” Veronica reaches out to place a hand above Betty’s. “I really missed you.”

Betty doesn’t look at her. Discreetly, she removes her hand from Veronica’s. “You had a funny way of showing it,” she says, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. “You never even mentioned you were going away.”

Veronica takes a deep breath. “I know,” she says as she exhales. She _does_ know. After the fiasco with Archie this morning, the way she blurted out things that probably could’ve been said with more tact, she vouched that she wouldn’t make the same mistake with Betty. “Look, I know it’s not an excuse for disappearing the way I did, but I needed to get away from here. All that stuff with my dad moving… Things were a mess. It was getting out of control.”

_It did get out of control._

“Why couldn’t you just tell me that?” Betty asks, her voice smaller.

Veronica shakes her head. “I was confused. And probably ashamed,” she swallows. “But I’m here now, and I wanna know what I’ve missed. What’s going on with you?” She asks, genuinely wanting to know that Betty’s year was better without her.

Betty nods slowly, and takes a sip before answering. “Everything’s been great. My parents are open to my applying to Brown, Polly is pledging a sorority there this semester,” she exhales and then smiles, making Veronica smile a little too. “Archie’s been amazing.”

 _That’s good,_ Veronica thinks sincerely, even though there’s a pang in her heart, like the reminder of an absence.

“I’m so happy to hear it, B,” she tries to hold Betty’s hand again, squeezing her fingers.

“Well. Enough about me! Tell me about your time away.”

Veronica doesn’t know where to begin. There’s not much to say, to be honest, so she goes for the partial truth, as usual. She doesn’t get into any details about her mom, but she does tell Betty that she went to New Hampshire and spent a year jogging, buried in literature, perfecting her French. It was all very boring except for the occasional party in the woods. It was also very much what she thought she needed.

“ _Please_ ,” Betty says, amused, once Veronica is done talking. “We all know you probably became their queen in three days.”

Veronica feels a sad smile tug at her lips. There’s something that she needs to get off her chest. “B… I saw you this morning with Cheryl and the girls. I get it. I know the Blue and Gold will probably try to stir some shit, but I want you to know that this stuff doesn’t matter to me anymore. This reign of hierarchy thing. _You_ are all that does, B. I want to fix us, if you’ll let me.”

Her heart swells at the wide green eyes that find hers.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Betty gives her a smile. Then, she glances down at the dainty watch on her wrist. “I have to go. I really do have plans with Archie.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna keep you,” Veronica hops off her stool when Betty does. Betty leans in for a hug, a real hug, that really feels like home. “I love you, B.”

“Love you, V,” Betty says against her hair and lets go. Veronica doesn’t anticipate the rush of renewed guilt that washes over her.

She watches as Betty leaves the bar and blows out a breath that she didn’t know she’d been holding. Reaching out for her cocktail glass, Veronica drinks all that’s left, feeling the mixture settle into her stomach. “Can I get another one?” She asks the bartender.

Veronica fishes her phone out of her purse as she waits and decides to text the one person she knows that, somehow, won’t make her feel like shit. Not for the wrong reasons, anyway.

**_at the maple club. care to join?_ **

She’s halfway through her second cocktail when the answer comes.

**_been waitin’ for this all day ;)_ **

* * *

_a third drink, hm v? we knew she was thirsty. maybe that’s why **#reggiemantle** was just spotted entering the maple club. hope you did your math homework, upper east siders. not half-bad for a monday night, right? **#veronicaisback**_

* * *

He's stuck in traffic on his way to Betty's house. Normally, he would've walked the eight blocks that separate them, but light rain was falling and his mom was adamant that he asked the driver. Archie doesn't really have it in him to fight his mother's care, so he just obliged, as usual.

He's in the backseat with his phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling down his feed to check the tweets for the Women's National Soccer Team, just to catch up with the results from the last games, when he, unfortunately, hits the Blue and Gold’s latest scoop.

Archie hates that account. He almost never made use of it, except for a brief period last year when he'd check the **_#whereisv?_** hashtag in a desperate attempt of finding something out, but even that he stopped himself from doing. He knows he's a feature in it from time to time, mostly related to his sports and the occasional "spotted" at some random place. He doesn't understand why people are attracted to keeping tabs on their lives, and he truly only follows the handle out of habit.

But in their latest tweet there are two pictures that catch Archie's attention: Veronica, sitting at a bar with her favorite drink in hand, and Reggie, arriving at said bar with his favorite leather jacket on. The blast says something about doing the math, and Archie can't help but clench his jaw. There's also a new hashtag, as the punchline to a joke, **_#veronicaisback_**.

_I didn't come back for you._

Despite himself, despite knowing better, despite it all, Archie clicks on the hashtag.

The thread is filled with speculation, **_omgs_** , and all this Generation Z bullshit that he always thought he was beyond. But there are also new pictures: Reggie and Veronica seen leaving the bar together, Reggie and Veronica seen walking into some sort of club, Reggie and Veronica seen dancing in said club, his smile on her neck, his hands too low on her hips.

Someone tweets in reply how good they look together.

Archie locks his phone and sinks into the leather seat. She really is acting like nothing was supposed to change and maybe he should start to, as well.

The driver drops him off at Betty's building, and Archie turns his phone off as he rings the doorbell. He isn't particularly thrilled to have some sort of date night, but after ignoring Betty's texts ever since yesterday, he couldn't say no to her invitation.

She opens the door and greets him with a bright smile.

There's no one in the Cooper household except his girlfriend— Alice and Hal would be out for an hour or so, and Polly, _well_. Betty opens the door for him. She looks pretty, like she's been out and still hasn't changed. She kisses the corner of his mouth to greet him when he walks in.

“Hey,” she smiles, and takes his hand, pulling him towards her room. “I'm— thank you for coming. I know it's a little short-noticed.”

Archie frowns. It's kinda weird how, throughout their entire lives, Betty has always said _please_ and _thank you_ to him, like he was doing some kind of favor by hanging out with her. He never quite got why she’d do that.

Her room is filled with the pale pink and floral decor that he always associates with Betty, only the lamp is on. She sits on her bed as Archie shrugs off his jacket.

“Where did your parents go?”

“I think my mom had a committee thing tonight,” she shrugs. Archie sits on her bed too, next to her, his leg doing that thing it does from time to time when he can't stop shaking it. “I— I went out with Veronica, earlier.”

That piques his interest, and he hates it. “Yeah?” He finds himself saying. Betty presses close to his side, reaching out to take his hand. “How… How was it?”

She starts playing with his fingers but he can’t really concentrate on her touch.

“It was good.” She does that thing where her face doesn’t match what she’s thinking. “I think it wasn’t my fault, you know?”

Archie feels an ache in his throat. He _knows_. He knows it’s not her fault that Veronica left and he hadn’t imagined Betty could feel like it _was_ , not until this moment.

Sometimes, he thinks this is all just a ticking clock between the three of them, a time bomb on the verge of detonating.

Betty leans in and starts placing gentle kisses on his cheek, moving to the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I would’ve survived this year without you,” she confesses. Archie feels sick. “I told her how amazing you are, Arch. I’m so lucky.”

Her lips find his in a tentative kiss but Archie nearly recoils at her touch. Guilt floods through his body and he takes her hands in his, shaking his head.

Pulling back, she wrinkles up her forehead in confusion.

“What’s wrong, Arch?”

What’s wrong? Everything’s wrong. He’s _not_ amazing. She isn’t lucky. He vowed to be better for her and he’s just the same, just a shitty liar. He might’ve as well just been any other stupid guy on the planet.

His father did not raise him to be like that. Fred always taught him to take pride in telling the truth and doing the right thing.

“I— I can’t do this, Betty.” He hangs his head in shame, feeling the courage creeping up from the pit of his stomach, the words on the tip of his tongue.

There was a time after Veronica left that felt like their secret left with her. Memories got blurred enough that, after a while, Archie caught himself asking if that night did happen or if it was just a fever dream.

But with her coming back ( _not for him_ ), everything that was _real_ returned too.

“You can’t do what?” Betty asks, clearly confused.

He heaves a breath and stands up, pacing her bedroom while she sits waiting for him to speak.

“Remember last year? At Ollie’s wedding?” He asks stupidly. Of course, she remembers.

_He didn’t want to be in a wedding and listen to people vow eternal love the same year his parents decided that their love was no longer worth it, but there he was, at the ceremony, squished between his mom and Betty. From where he was sitting he could see Veronica and Reggie next to each other in the front row, her black hair blending nicely with the other Mantles. Her back was exposed by the open back of her silver dress and he could see the distinct bikini tan lines fading away, proof that the summer had passed a long time ago._

_The worst part wasn’t even the wedding — the worst part was that after this summer, Archie was having trouble believing that love was real, and the whole thing felt fake. For someone like him, who thrived on the idea, that was a horrible realization._

_The party was easier like it always was. They walked into the ballroom and Veronica immediately shoved glasses of champagne in his and Betty’s hands. “I hate weddings,” she sighed, running back to Reggie’s side to catch one of the five tequila shots he was lining up. Maybe she hated weddings for the same reason Archie was starting to._

_He caught himself wanting Veronica to come back — somehow it felt like she’d been avoiding him, just a little, ever since school started. His eyes were still glued on her when Betty asked if he wanted to dance._

Betty nods her head slowly, trying to understand where he’s going with this. He feels like tugging at his hair in frustration, just needing to get it out.

“You and Cheryl tried to help Reggie when he got so fucked up. I couldn’t find you at the time, but I found Veronica. We decided to walk to my house and wait for you guys there…”

He swallows as he thinks back to the night he has tried to forget while holding on to remember.

_Veronica stole a bottle of champagne before they left the party. Archie chuckled, calling her crazy, but she only stuck her tongue out at him. The walk to his place wasn’t a long one but it was even faster with Ronnie singing by his side, the song that the DJ was playing while they were searching for Betty back at the reception._

_“I! Had! The time of my liiiife… and I never felt this way before…”_

_Archie watched her spin around, her chiffon skirt nothing but a blur of silver, the bodice of her dress sparkling against the streetlights. She tugged at the cork and tried opening the champagne bottle while still singing. He didn’t know how to tell her that he had been missing her ever since summer ended._

_“You don’t know how to open this,” he said, trying to reach for the bottle in her hand. She pulled it away from him, making him laugh. “Come on, Ronnie, let me do it.”_

_“I thought Mr. Golden Boy was trying to stop me from stealing the booze,” she noted, amused, staying out of his reach._

_“I can do it, let me—” she squirmed and laughed when he wrapped his arm around her and used the advantage of his bigger frame to steal the bottle. It popped between them with a frothy spill, startling them and covering their hands. “Look what you did.”_

_She laughed, tipping her head back. Archie drank from the bottle without thinking it through — they were fucking minors drinking alcohol in the streets while making a shitload of noise. Veronica always had that power of quieting his head._

_The bottle was one third down once they finally got to Archie’s building. They left it unfinished at the corner before walking into the foyer. His mom was still back at the wedding — he‘d last seen her maybe flirting with someone and was not ready for it. There was no news from Betty or Cheryl, so Veronica decided to call Andre and have him pick her up._

_Archie stopped her with a gentle touch on her wrist. “Stay for a bit,” he asked and watched as she lifted up her eyes at him. “We haven’t hung out since forever.”_

_There was a still moment when she just looked at him. Archie thought she was going to say no, but then she poked him. “Race you to the elevator,” she said like they were still twelve, and started to run, her heels and her laughter echoing through the empty hall._

_She obviously got there first. The happy sound of her giggling like crazy made him laugh, too. He was dizzy from the champagne and she was tipsy, and he ended up pulling her closer against his better judgment. But that was how it had always been around her, a sense of freedom that he didn’t experience often. Around her, he didn’t need to be perfect, he just needed to be himself. She made him feel warm inside, the little smile he always felt was just for him._

_At least, he always hoped it was just for him._

_Veronica laughed even harder against his shoulder when she realized that he forgot to press the floor button to take them upstairs, distracted by their proximity._

_The depth of her dark eyes dragged him in even closer to her orbit and after a few seconds of silence, he took a step forward and felt her warm breath on his neck._

_He wasn’t stupid to ignore that there was some tension between them. He’d felt it for the past two years. Two whole years of admiring her and joking with her, dancing with her and confiding in her._

_Said tension became so overwhelmingly thick in the stillness of the elevator shaft that he nearly lost his mind._

_Her hands reached up to adjust his tie playfully, something she always did. He looked down and saw a new glimmer in her eyes. It got him brave enough to take one more step forward until their hips were almost touching. He felt the hitch of her breath._

_“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered with her palms flat against his chest. His heartbeat so fast under her touch that it was almost painful. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he invited her up, but now, somehow, it felt like a plan all along._

_“We definitely shouldn’t do this,” he breathed back. He tried to think about all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this but his mind was blank, blinded by the scent of her perfume and the champagne in their combined breaths._

_His heart overruled his head when their lips met and sent them into a frenzy._

_At first, it was so soft he wanted to cry, kissing that girl after secretly wanting to for so many years. Somewhere he remembered a pair of green eyes but it didn’t matter — not kissing Veronica would surely kill him._

_She opened her mouth against his and he responded immediately. Their tongues touched and he breathed her in, swallowing the noises from her mouth when his hands curled around her waist; the sensation of her nails scratching at his scalp and her thumbs grazing gently over his earlobes._

_Her touch sent a blaze of fire coursing through his veins, desire only pushing him closer._

_When the elevator arrived at the top floor, he guided her out to the hallway, scrambling in his pockets to retrieve his key while maintaining a firm grip on her waist._

_He boldly moved his hands south, below the equator of her waistline to feel the shape of her ass; the same curves he studied all too often as an adolescent. Veronica let a whimper fall from her throat, as he moved his hands lower down her backside and squeezed her._

_The fire in her eyes was smoldering when they pulled apart briefly, her hands deftly unbuttoning his starched shirt and scraping down his pecs. The moan she let out with her hands on him had him needing more, awakening something deep within his soul._

_Archie crouched down to grasp her thighs and pick her up, bringing their hips together this time. Her golden legs wrapped around him felt like heaven, the warmth radiating off her was euphoric._

_He carried her to the couch, unable to make it to his bedroom, and plopped down on the center cushion with her in his lap. Veronica’s kisses became more feverish as they continued and he nearly blew it all when his hand snaked into her raven tendrils and pulled just so, prompting the hottest sound he’d ever heard in his sixteen years on Earth._

Archie watches as Betty’s eyes drop, shiny with tears. He stops speaking, shame and guilt trapped in his throat.

“That was it?” Betty’s voice sounds small. He notices that she’s curling her hands into tight fists. “You two kissed?”

He breathes out as his eyes start to prickle.

_Her hips started grinding on him in a punishing rhythm, blocking out anything attempting to walk into his mind except for her name._

_“Ronnie.” He sighed against her neck, hypnotized by the feel of her skin under his lips. She tasted like something expensive and forbidden, melting in his mouth. He grounded himself with a grasp on her hips under the pools of the fabric of her skirt._

_He could barely think straight when she started cupping him through his pants, kissing him senseless into oblivion. Archie never experienced this type of passion before, but his instincts took over. This was Veronica touching him, the girl that spun around his head in all of his most secret fantasies._

_She sat back on his thighs and tugged at his belt in haste. Moving her mouth to his neck, Veronica began rubbing her center against him. He felt high off her heat and prayed this was really happening._

_“Do you want to?" She asked in a rush. "I want to.”_

_He barely had a chance to mumble out a coherent response (yes, yes, yes) before she kissed him with an open mouth, just grunting while grabbing her and pulling her close to chase the friction she was teasing him with moments prior._

_His body was boiling up at the sensation of her moving on top of him, lipstick smudged and raven locks hanging down her shoulders like a goddess. She leaned down to plant kisses over his chest, poking her tongue out over his nipple while pulling his belt through the loops._

_Veronica began snaking a hand into his pants and he nearly came at the feel of her nails trailing further down. Normally shy about anything like this, he moaned loudly as soon as her tiny hand wrapped around his erection, light touches before giving him a few pumps._

_He felt like he was going to combust, never feeling such a need for someone else, hand caressing her breast over the beaded part of her dress_

_“Touch me, Archiekins.”_

_She took his free hand and moved it dangerously high up her leg, all the way under her dress, them both moaning when he grabbed at her flesh. He could hardly believe this was happening, Veronica Lodge rubbing herself against him and showing him where to touch her._

_Her hand wrapped around him was starting to become too much and he feared their time together would come to an end all too soon if he didn’t do something. He followed her earlier motions and decided to grab her ass again, groaning at the feel in his hands._

_“Take this off,” she ordered while lapping at his ear with her tongue. Archie barely understood what she meant when he realized she was tugging at her dress. “C’mon.”_

_Archie fumbled a little while finding the track of her zipper, pulling it down in a rush and trying not to ruin her pretty dress. His fingers grazed down her naked back, feeling her shiver once he got to the bottom, reaching her pantyline._

_Veronica found his lips again, her tongue seeking his out hotly. He started kissing along her jaw and down her throat, overcome by need with the sounds falling from her mouth. When he reached the base of her neck, in the spot where it meets her shoulder, she mewled above him._

_Archie held her with a palm spread across her bare back, relishing in the beauty before him. “Ronnie,” he breathed out before holding her firmly and laying her down on the couch. Her hair lay fanned across the cushions, looking every bit like the girl of his dreams. He leaned down and met her for another kiss._

Betty is shaking. Archie can see the way her shoulders tremble even though she’s trying to hold it together.

“Get out,” she mutters through her teeth. He stands there like an idiot, incapable of moving. There's a new shade in her eyes, one that he's never witnessed.

“Betty.” He tries, taking half a step forward, reaching out to touch her arm.

“Get out!” She says with more heat, looking like a wounded animal for a second. Her anger startles him, but he tries again, if only because he’s worried. She slams her hands against his shoulders, shoving him back. “Get the fuck out before I kill you!”

Archie frowns. He doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s never seen Betty so angry before. He supposes the best thing would be to allow an apology to surpass his open mouth, but in the end, he’s just a coward, and he leaves.

Betty sits idle on her bed watching as Cheryl finishes cleaning up the mess.

_Her mess._

The room is free of broken glass and ripped fabric. There’s no blood anymore. Betty’s head is silent like she was in the aftermath of a nuclear bomb. The air is still, her heartbeat is still. The only thing that moves is the redheaded girl that she came to trust, somehow.

Cheryl finally leaves the ensuite bathroom and moves to stand behind Betty, studying her reflection in the vanity mirror. Picking up the Mason Pearson hairbrush, Cheryl starts running it through the blonde locks soothingly.

Betty is still trying to piece together what happened in her mind, but she doesn’t feel angry or sad. She just _is_.

“Did you and the two-timing jockstrap actually break up?”

It feels like they did. “I think so.”

“So that’s it? You're just gonna let Archie and Veronica ride into the sunset after betraying you like that?”

“I don’t know.”

"Just sit on his dick and put him out of his misery, Betty. That way he can move on from his pre-teen wet dreams.” Cheryl yanks a little harder on her hair, “sorry you have a huge knot.”

Betty’s eyes meet her back in the mirror, listening to Cheryl’s words and coming back to herself. “As for Veronica, we’ll see what she’s really after. I don’t buy the reformed girl act. Maybe we’ll get her retreating to the hole she crawled out of.”

* * *

_oh no. just when b and v had built a bridge, it all had to come crashing down. meanwhile, word is that **#veggie** are getting hot and heavy. maybe he's the reason why **#veronicaisback**? or maybe is it that we all have to come back home one day?_

* * *

Again in the backseat of a car, Archie’s heart races inside his chest. He can’t believe what just happened. That his secret was no longer a secret. He thought he’d feel relief by telling her but he only felt _bad,_ so bad it was pouring out of him. But the worst part? It was his fault.

The last forty-eight hours feel like whiplash. Veronica walked back into his life like a hurricane, stirring everything up, leaving nothing but destruction behind. Seeing Betty, sweet, caring Betty, snap like that _terrified_ him. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to feel.

Archie is already tearing up when he takes his keys out of his pocket and walks into the dark living room. Only the TV light is on.

“Arch?”

“Dad,” he says, sounding like the stupid kid he really is. Fred gets up from his chair, forehead wrinkling in worry. “I— I think I screwed up.”

“Oh, kiddo.”

His father walks two large steps in his direction and takes him into his arms.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! We’re back with multi fic based on one of our favorite, albeit trashy, shows. Please keep in mind we both have WIPs and will update this when we can!
> 
> This story is most definitely dedicated to the other portion of the Golden Girls, AK and Fran, who are now challenged to write together too 👀 We love you.
> 
> All the characters, friendships and ships listed will show up. Some will be more proeminent than others, but we are conjuring a nice, chaotic, filled-with-drama thing here. Please give us feedback!
> 
> Songs for this chapter:
> 
>   * When Did Your Heart Go Missing? - Rooney (title)
>   * What Goes Around... Comes Around - Justin Timberlake (at the start)
>   * Young Folks - Peter, Bjorn and John
>   * Time to Pretend- MGMT
>   * Believe - The Bravery
>   * Time of My Life - Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes
>   * Hard to Live In The City - Albert Hammond Jr.
> 



	2. #bizarrelovetriangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! We were SO HAPPY with your feedback, for real! We know it's a hard time to live in this world, but hopefully this update cheers you all up. Please, continue to let us know what you think!
> 
> Just a quick reminder: since it's an on-going series, every chapter focus more on one dynamic or one character. Tonight, the focus stays on BAV, but we are planning to add _every_ character you see listed, little by little so it doesn't get overwhelming. This is more than a Varchie-centric fic, it's really a **multi-character, multi-ship** fic, so yes. Now, we can go on. 💋

**— when the moon finally falls down  
it will split us all up —**

****

_“Not everyone can bronze like Mantle the Magnificent.” Reggie hollered from his place beside the pool, spread out in the Adirondack chair slicked with tanning oil. Veronica could smell the coconut scent from where she was standing._

_She couldn’t help but chuckle. She also couldn’t deny that Reggie looked nice with his tanned skin, just a shade lighter than her own. He'd been working hard all summer to get his skin bronzed enough so it would stick until Ollie’s wedding in October, where Reggie would act as his brother’s best man._

_Archie, however, was already crisping and squinting in the face of the strong mid-July sun._

_Sitting next to him under the parasol, she watched as he reached for the seventy-proof sunscreen Cheryl used earlier. Her eyes were glued on his hand holding the bottle, and her neck felt warmer for some reason, especially when he squeezed the cream on his palm and his forearm muscle jumped out a little._

_Veronica hated noticing things like that but it was all she’d been noticing ever since summer started. Without thinking too much, she snatched the sunscreen bottle as he started to press the lotion on his chest. “Allow me, Archiekins,” she said. It was easier to hide behind the flirty undertones she used with pretty much everyone else. “We don’t want those broad shoulders to burn.”_

_“My broad shoulders?” He asked with a wrinkle of his forehead._

_Laughter bubbled up inside her at his innocence. Just the other day, Cheryl and Veronica overheard some of the moms in the summer book club talking about how Archie Andrews had filled out quite nicely._

_He had no idea about it, which probably just made him look even better. Archie always looked good but now it was borderline unfair, the new lines on his torso, the new shape of his jawline, the light copper hair that started under his belly button and ended in the waistline of his swim shorts._

_The blazing summer sun hanging above made her feel overheated when her hands started rubbing the lotion into his freckled skin. She didn’t know why she kept finding reasons to touch him. To be honest, it was quite embarrassing. And somehow she always felt that, at some point, someone would gain a superpower and start listening to those thoughts that she shouldn’t be having about her best friend’s boyfriend._

_She really wanted those thoughts to go away but there she was, feeling the hard planes of his shoulders under her palms, following the path of a bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck._

_“There,” she patted his shoulder blade twice for good measure, to keep it friendly. Because that’s all they were. “All done.”_

_He turned around, dimples etched on his face from that boyish smile. “Thanks, Ronnie.”_

_She probably imagined the way his eyes lingered over the revealing parts of her bikini just a second too long but, fuck, that boy was out to kill her one day._

_“Nice to see your girlfriend taking care of you while your wife is away.” Cheryl spat, walking out to the deck with a fresh margarita in hand._

_Archie’s ears turned bright red, letting out the sweetest laugh filled with nerves._

_Veronica rubbed her sticky hands together so she could control her will to slap the redheaded girl. “Want help with your shoulders, Cher?“ She asked._

_Cheryl barely opened her mouth to answer, because, in one quick moment, Veronica was taken out from the side by a much stronger Reggie. Next thing she knew, they were hitting the water with his arms tight around her middle._

_She struggled under the water, trying not to swallow it. When they surfaced, his hands held firmer on her waist, and he laughed at her coughing. He shook his black hair, splashing even more water on her._

_“I hate you,” she rolled hers at him playfully after regaining composure._

_Reggie just smirked back, always loving to get under her skin. “Yeah, yeah. But do you hate this?” He asked, bringing her in for a deep, hot kiss, tasting faintly like chlorine with a hint of weed._

_His tongue quickly found hers. Veronica kissed him back. Yet, the only thing she could think about for a moment was if Archie’s eyes were on them from the place they stood together a few seconds prior. If he still felt her hands on his shoulders._

_Trying to quiet that disgusting voice inside her head, she kissed Reggie even harder, until it actually distracted her. Archie belonged to someone else. Reggie, on the other hand, always pretended to belong to her._

* * *

_rise and shine, upper east siders. we bet you’re wondering what we’re doing up at the crack of dawn. truth is, we never went to sleep. why waste precious time dreaming when your lives are much more salacious and sprinkled with scandal?_

_we last saw **#archieandrews** distressed, leaving **#bettycooper** 's house. these two haven’t had a fight since last year. we wonder what could’ve prompted trouble in paradise. he’s gone off our radar for a moment so while we don't find him, what do you think happened to **#veggie** after their hot comeback yesterday? can't wait to find out. send your morning tea to **@blueandgold**_

* * *

Veronica wakes up with a pounding headache, sprawled out on a set of jersey sheets that definitely don’t belong to her. It’s been a while since that’s happened.

_Oh, well. I lasted exactly 24 hours._

Taking in her surroundings, she remembers making her way back to Reggie’s apartment following last call. She learned after Oliver and his perfect bride were wed last year, Marty and Melinda Mantle gifted the newlyweds a brownstone in Carnegie Hill. Ollie allowed his little brother to take up residence in his former bachelor pad.

Reggie and Veronica spent many nights partying with the seniors in this very studio apartment before the elder Mantle brother got them their first fake IDs.

Through foggy eyes, she notices the little changes since the last time she’s been here, recognizing some of the items that must have come with Reggie, like his soccer trophies and the framed picture of his late dog, Vader, on the nightstand. Everything looks very neat, confirming he probably still has the maid coming weekly.

There’s a light snore and a mop of thick black hair covering a throw pillow on the couch, making her smile at the realization.

They had a _quasi_ -typical “Veggie” night. That’s how the Blue and Gold used to call them back then, naming them an item even if they never _truly_ were one. Their relationship was always one of the easiest in Veronica’s life — by nature, he’s a blast, and always a good distraction.

And God knows how she needed one after watching Betty walk away with a smile and a promise of rebuilding their friendship. Veronica wanted to own that promise _so bad_ but, at the same time, instead of relief, the only thing she felt was guilt.

At least Reggie wouldn’t ask her anything. He never did — he was one of the only people from her “old life” that she kept in touch with throughout last year, even if just a few texts here and there, and he never once questioned her or got angry at her. And last night, it was like she never left at all — he was just happy to have her back.

Her phone starts vibrating violently over the glass coffee table, forcing Reggie awake quickly.

“Shit,” she mumbles. “I need to go home and get ready for school.”

Veronica pulls back the down comforter and pads into his bathroom in bare feet and a drowning black t-shirt, smelling faintly of Reggie’s cologne. As if by routine, she opens the modern medicine cabinet and untwists a bottle of aspirin. She throws back the pill and chases it with cold water from the faucet.

A bare-chested Reggie greets her when she returns, looking a little more awake while stretching.

“So that’s it?” He jokes, watching her gather her things while throwing her a lazy smile from his place on the sofa. “Going to leave a hefty bill on the nightstand for my services?”

Veronica laughs. “Need I remind you, Reginald, that contrary to popular belief, absolutely nothing happened between us last night?”

“Well, we still have thirty minutes,” he grins.

“I hate you.” She tosses a pillow at his beautiful face before leaving his apartment.

Archie wakes up early to the sounds of a construction site, traffic, and the familiar smell of sizzling bacon. He grins at the thought of eating a home-cooked breakfast, a Fred Andrews specialty.

Last night was a mess and retreating to Brooklyn seemed like the right move. He needed more than ever to confide in his father and seek out his advice. After a long talk and a few tears, Archie grew tired enough to fall asleep. He doesn’t exactly feel rested, but his head is in a clearer place than it was eight hours ago.

He makes his way out to the kitchen, happily following the scented trail of food.

Fred Andrews stands over the stove with a flannel hanging loosely off his frame. Watching his father flip a flapjack in the skillet brings him back to his childhood. He takes a seat at the breakfast bar and helps himself to the pitcher of orange juice. Seeing his dad behind the kitchen island makes Archie wish that things were simpler again.

“Morning, kid. How’re you feeling today? Any better?” He asks with a sincere smile, placing a few pancakes in front of Archie.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t _know_ what he feels yet, but at least that tight feeling inside his chest had gone away. “A little, yeah.”

“That’s good,” Fred comes back to the stove. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about it right now, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” Archie sighs, drizzling his pancakes with some maple syrup. “I made a mistake and I have to deal with the consequences.”

“That’s correct. We are human and we are prone to mistakes, but we gotta own them,” Fred says, turning off the fire and sitting on a stool across from Archie, his own breakfast plate in front of him. “What do you think that means for your future with Betty?”

Archie takes a bite of his food, shrugging as he chews. He feels his dad’s eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. “I think breaking up was probably the best move,” Archie says after swallowing. The sweet, buttery taste in his mouth _does_ make him think about Betty, about how she smelled like she had just baked something, or about how she tasted kinda like honey when they first kissed, a million years ago. He remembers the setting of that kiss — Central Park in January, their mittens clasped together, blue and pink — but he cannot remember the feel of it. They were just kids. “I mean, I— it feels wrong to say it, but I don’t think… Would I have done what I did if we were in a good place?”

That’s a question Archie had always asked himself, over and over. The problem is that it never _felt_ like he and Betty weren’t in a good place — they were just in the very same place they had always been. They were still going on dates every weekend, she still never complained about him picking the movie, she still attended his soccer games with enthusiasm, wearing pale pink ear-muffs that matched her pale pink sneakers. She’d still help him with his homework (doing it for him) and neatly put the books away, and they’d still kiss for hours; more lips than tongue, more sighs than moans.

He’s wondered for a long time if what happened between him and Veronica was just a sign of things not being fine in his relationship but the truth is, things were just the same. Archie still loved Betty the exact same way he did when they were eleven on that winter day. A love that wasn’t going anywhere, neither here nor there. A feeling stuck in both space and time.

Every time he asks himself that question, though, there’s an answer that he tries and tries to ignore: _you know you would have done it anyway. How you feel about Betty was never the problem._

“I want to say _probably not_ , but I don’t think I can say what you would or wouldn’t do,” Fred takes a sip of his coffee. Archie fumbles with his breakfast, suddenly not too hungry anymore. “How was seeing Veronica again after all this time?”

Archie looks up to his dad. He wishes he could say any of the things that cross his mind without sounding crazy — _it felt like a bullet. It felt like gasping for air and drowning at the same time._

He shakes his head, blowing out a breath. She didn’t come back for him.

“It doesn’t really matter.”

Fred looks at him the way he always looked at him, ever since he was a little kid — like he could see right through his lies. Archie doesn’t entertain his glance, he just eats another mouthful of pancakes.

“Well,” Fred starts, as if he realizes he isn’t getting another answer. “Whatever happens from now on, I think you know what you should do, son. Betty is a great girl, and you’ve hurt her a lot,” he points out. “You already did the right thing by telling her the truth. The least you can do now is apologize to her and wait for her forgiveness.”

Archie nods, sweet pancakes turning sour in his mouth.

An hour later, Archie, already in his Stonewall uniform, is back on the Upper East Side and back at the Cooper’s townhouse. He beat his brain up the entire way, trying to think of how he’ll _start_ to apologize. Truth is, Betty is his oldest friend, and he doesn’t want to lose her forever, even if they’re not together anymore.

He’s also worried about her words when he left. It was probably just a mix of disgust and sadness — after all, if his betrayal hurt _him_ , he can only imagine how much it hurt _her_ — but still, he wasn’t ready to witness the darkness in her eyes.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Archie thinks as he rings the bell, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Hal Cooper answers the door in a bright sweater and blinding white teeth. He greets Archie, probably oblivious to the breakup entirely. They enter through the bright living room, where Alice is on her laptop, as smiley as her husband. The Coopers have always upheld a certain type of appearance, something passed on to Betty.

“Betty will be down in a second, she’s just grabbing her bag.” Alice adjusts her glasses and sips primly from her porcelain mug.

“Can I get you anything, Archie?” Hal asks from the kitchen, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

“No thanks, Mr. Cooper. I’m good,” he answers, nervously.

It’s true that Betty is down in a second, stopping half-way down the steps when she notices him standing there. She wraps her hand around her blue backpack that’s strapped over her shoulders. The fact that she’s wearing a low ponytail speaks volumes about how upset she really is — she probably woke up later than usual today.

She doesn’t look happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”

Her parents are now in their own conversation on the loveseat, leaving the two teens speaking openly, even though Archie always suspected that Alice Cooper somehow knew every single that he’s ever said to Betty in their lives.

(Except the words from _last night_ , of course.)

“I was hoping I could walk you to school,” he says, feeling strangely shy all of a sudden.

Betty sighs. It’s deep, annoyed, nothing like the lovey-dovey sighs he remembered just a few moments ago, while having breakfast with his dad. She doesn’t say anything — just starts walking towards the double doors leading out to the street. “Bye, Mom, Dad.”

She closes the door before they even answer.

 _Rude, Elizabeth,_ Archie can hear her mother’s voice inside his head.

“What do you want?” She asks him when they step outside, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Betty,” he breathes out. He never thought this would be an easy conversation. “Look. I know I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

She shoots her eyebrows up. “You fucked my best friend and you never meant to hurt me?”

Archie widens his eyes, surprised with her language. His cheeks burn. To this day he has never thought about what happened in such a simple way. It sounds even worse when put into actual words.

Betty keeps looking at him like he should say something.

“I _am_ sorry, Betty. I really don’t know what else to say.”

Her eyes narrow as they stop at the crosswalk. They’re cold, red-rimmed, and Archie truly, _deeply_ , hates seeing her like this. A part of him wishes he could take it all back, kiss her back when she pressed her lips to his mouth yesterday, receive with hands stretched out whatever she was trying to give him.

But that’s just a stupid thought. If this past year has taught him anything, it’s that you can’t wish your troubles away. It doesn’t work like this.

“You don’t know what to say?” She asks, exasperated. “How about _it didn’t mean anything_? Or _I love you?”_

He looks up at her. It would be _so easy_ to just tell her these things she wants to hear — _especially_ that he loves her, because he does, but somehow saying it at this moment feels wrong. He can’t lie to her, not again, not after lying for three-hundred and fifty-three days in a row. He can’t go ahead and say what happened with Veronica didn’t mean anything.

They cross the street in silence, keeping an even pace as they walk.

This isn’t going well.

Betty surprises him by speaking again. This time, her voice is chirpier, like a button has been pushed. “Or how about saying you promise you’ll never talk to Veronica again? I’ll forgive you.”

Archie stops walking, turning to her with his eyebrows creased. There’s a faint smile he doesn’t recognize on her face. It seems like such an easy solution: never talk to Veronica again and things will be okay. An already solved equation for this complicated problem.

It seems almost _too easy_. He’d wonder if there’s a catch to it, if he didn’t know the girl standing in front of him for almost longer than he knew himself. Betty was good at playing pretend but she wasn’t a liar like him, or a schemer like the girls she hangs out with.

And it seems fair too, that she wants him never speaking to Veronica again. It’s not like Veronica wanted to speak to him, anyway. But still—

“That’s it? Betty—” he stands in confusion.

She smiles and leans in and pecks his lips as if it were any other day. As if she wasn’t crying and shoving him away just a few hours ago. “Perfect. C’mon,” she tugs at his hand towards school. “We’re going to be late.”

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _v fleeing the home of one **#reggiemantle** wearing last night’s clothing. reg followed close behind, sporting a big smile. how’s that for breakfast? and do our eyes deceive us, or is **#barchie** on again? we're bored. hope you had your coffee, upper east siders, cause we have a feeling it’s going to be a long day. we take ours dark, but sweet ;)_

* * *

Veronica gets home in time to shower and change before needing to leave for school. Hermione is already up, in her silk robe and slippers, drinking a cup of tea at the table. She raises an eyebrow before hounding her daughter with questions regarding her whereabouts.

She tosses a simple _I went out_ over her shoulder, like she’s done countless times in her life.

“This isn’t how this works anymore.” Hermione drops her newspaper and determinedly follows Veronica the whole way to her room across the suite. “You can’t just stay out all night and come back in like this is a hotel room.”

Veronica frowns. “This _is_ a hotel room,” she points out with _just_ a bit of sass.

Hermione doesn’t think it’s funny. In fact, she only purses her lips. “And I spoke to Penelope Blossom yesterday. She says you haven’t RSVP’d the Kiss on the Lips party. That’s a big event, Veronica, and you just got back.” She stands with a hand on her hip in the doorway of her bedroom.

Veronica tries to remind herself this is just how her mother is. It’s how she’s always been. She’s not being cruel or insensitive, but the Lodges are highly conscious of public perception. Especially within their close circle of elite. It’s been a luxury not feeling the pressure during the year she retreated from the spotlight.

“I’m not going because I wasn’t invited. No more questions, please.” With a smile, she turns back and speaks calmly. “Now, I need to get ready for school.”

In record-breaking time, Veronica is out the door and kissing her mother goodbye, both of them calmer than they were twenty minutes prior. Andre meets her at the curb and closes the door behind her.

She picks at the hem of her plaid skirt, thinking about how the second day of school will go. After oversleeping at Reggie’s, she missed the opportunity to show up at the steps and have coffee with Betty, which probably doesn’t add points to her _let’s fix this_ project. And now, she needs to head right into the main hall toward her locker.

It used to be decorated with pictures — her and Betty in their pink ballerina outfits when they were in junior high; her, Cheryl and Reggie at a party during that summer (a picture she remembers Archie taking for them); a selfie with Archie and Betty where she was squished between their smiles — and a big mirror where Cheryl once planted a red kiss. Headmistress Honey assigned her the same one she used last year, making her a little nostalgic for _before_. When everything was seemingly perfect.

With luck, she’ll get to redecorate the locker soon.

Veronica opens the slim, metal door and pulls out a few books from the top shelf. She notices a few familiar faces, all looking at her and whispering. It’s become a familiar paranoia in the forty-eight hours she’s been back.

Her eyes find Betty, coming down the hallway with Cheryl close by. “B! Hey.” She tries with enthusiasm.

She doesn’t expect the hardened glare from her friend. It’s _so_ cold, like it never was before, not even when they first saw each other back at the Blossoms. It sends a mortifying chill down Veronica’s spine. This is not the Betty Cooper she was having fun with last night.

Cheryl tosses her a dirty look, too, laughing as she looks at Veronica with distaste.

“ _What now_?” Veronica says aloud, tired of playing these games.

“Maybe you should start following the Blue and Gold again,” the redhead suggests, leaning on the locker beside Veronica’s, her phone in hand. “They’ve clearly been following _you_. All the way from Reggie’s apartment this morning.” She holds out her phone with a smirk and shoves the picture of her leaving his place in her face, long red nails wrapped around the screen. “Classy as always, V.”

Betty doesn’t say a word, just stands behind Cheryl and stares Veronica down with that unfamiliar scowl. This is _exactly_ why she stopped following that damned Twitter account. Why the hell would anyone care if she fucked Reggie or not? Even if she had, _which she didn’t_ , it wouldn’t be the first time and it was no one’s business, so why was that such _news_ in this fucking serpent’s nest?

She looks at Betty for a long moment, trying to find _something_ in her eyes that would give away _why_ she’s angry about this stupid tweet that means absolutely nothing. “What is going on here?”

Her _best friend_ just shrugs her shoulders.

“Just you, being trashy as usual.”

She doesn’t have it in her to get into this. She can’t _understand_ what is prompting Betty to behave like this — apparently, last night was all an act. “Fuck this,” she mutters under her breath, as she puts her books in her bag and shuts the locker, Relishing in the flinch from Cheryl, as she turns on her heels and decides to cut class.

Veronica Lodge no longer fights her demons. She learned how to run away from them.

She’s still nursing her hangover, and a headache of the mess she just endured, finding very little relief from the aspirin. Her Prada sunglasses cover a good portion of her face, masking a few of the stubborn tears that probably fell while she was leaving school.

Veronica walks down Madison Avenue and comes across the nearest Starbucks, ducking in to take a break and get a coffee. Keeping her sunglasses on, she moves up the line to place her order. “I’ll take a tall caramel macchiato, please. Three espresso shots.”

“Three shots?” He confirms, frowning a bit.

“You’re right...” Veronica sighs. “Make it four.”

The employee makes a face but keys in her drink, announcing her total and requesting a name for her cup. “Veronica,” she offers.

She waits off to the side, pulling her cape a little closer as she teeters on her heels, replaying the events of the last hour. It’s hard to process Betty’s words, though a little cathartic, knowing the hurtful truth they carried.

“Veronica!” The barista yells behind the counter.

She walks up to meet him and takes her drink, blowing a little on the steam and inhaling the sweet aroma of the caramel infused coffee. Turning to leave, she’s met by an unfamiliar boy around her age, wearing a Stonewall Prep uniform at a table nearby. He stands and smiles, approaching her from his seat next to the bake case. “Hi. Are you _the_ Veronica Lodge?” He asks with so much wonder it makes her chuckle, the first good feeling in the last hour.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replies with a little skepticism.

He adorably extends a hand to make introductions. “I’m Kevin Keller. I’m a huge fan.”

“What?” Veronica knits her eyebrows together.

“ _Please._ I’ve read every single blast about you in the Blue and Gold, followed the hashtag for _months_. You’re all everyone talked about when I transferred to Stonewall last year,” he says with a grin.

Veronica almost laughs despite herself, although remembering what happened at school before gets her profoundly sad again. “Apparently, I still am.”

“So, _what was it?_ ” He asks. He’s so excited that his green eyes are bright and earnest. “Pregnancy? Nosejob? Boobjob? Drug-induced religious experience?”

This time Veronica really does laugh. She had no idea _those_ were the versions of her disappearance since she threw her phone away as soon as she got to Grand Central on that fateful October morning. Kevin’s smile just makes everything even funnier. She takes off her sunglasses, pushing her hair back with them, and thanking the gods of waterproof mascara for a second.

“Well, I can’t just give away that information, can I?” She teases. “It’s probably worth a million dollars.”

“I’ll tell you this,” he places a hand on her shoulder. “There _was_ a poll going on for a while. Headmaster Weatherbee put an end to it.”

Veronica shakes her head. The whole thing was _really_ so ridiculous — she really can’t understand _why_ Cheryl and Betty would treat her like this, but this has always been the Upper East Side: retaliation over every single thing you do, good or bad. The girls are still inserted in this world of headbands and gossip, it’s their _normal_ reaction. Maybe Veronica just needs to give them one more chance.

Or, maybe, she just needs _new_ friends.

“Kevin, I assume you’re ditching school too,” Veronica says, taking a sip of her coffee. He nods, looking curious. “Wanna do something with me?”

He brings a hand to his chest. “Spending the day with _the_ Veronica Lodge? _Yes,_ please.”

Kevin opens the door for her, which is a stupid, chivalrous thing to do. Something Archie probably would have done. Veronica smiles softly as they walk out of the coffee shop with their cups in hand.

For a moment, noticing the change of the temperature on her face from warm inside to cold outside, Veronica wonders if this boy would be so amazed by her and chatting so enthusiastically if he knew the truth.

She imagines herself saying, _I fucked my best friend’s boyfriend_ and wonders if he’d be surprised, or scandalized, or disgusted.

The ice in Betty’s eyes comes back to her mind.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _just a couple of hours after skipping out of reggie’s place, v is skipping school with a new beau. they seem to be having a good time gallivanting around central park. does anyone know this dapper nobody courting our former queen? send your tips to the **@blueandgold**_

* * *

After school lets out, Betty decides not to work on The Register today and almost _runs_ back home. Her stomach has been stirring the entire day, and she didn’t want to give people at school any reason to _talk_ , so she endured the nausea.

In the empty townhouse, though, she goes straight to the toilet downstairs and throws up everything she had for lunch.

A few tears escape her eyes. She tells herself that they’re only there because of the vomiting, and takes a few deep breaths while sitting on the bathroom’s floor, hands tight into fists.

Once she levels out her breathing, she stands, flushing and washing her face. She pats it dry with a soft towel and looks at the mirror. Everything is fine.

She adjusts the bathroom mat so no one notices she ever sat on that floor. Then, she gets the backpack she threw in the middle of the living room when she arrived, and goes up to her room.

Betty sits at her white wicker vanity and takes her phone out of her bag. The last blast from the Blue and Gold is still open. Veronica Lodge, having a great time — _always_ having a great time — with some new admirer, some Stonewall kid that looked _so_ happy to be around her.

It was always unfair how Veronica could go along and do whatever she wanted without consequence, getting away with everything because she was adored by everyone.

Betty fell under her charm, too, once upon a time. Everyone did.

If only they knew what a fucking snake she was.

Betty has tried not to, but ends up thinking back to Oliver Mantle’s wedding. She only went to that because Archie invited her as his plus one — his mother would be there too and it was his first outing only with Mary ever since the divorce. Betty only put on a party dress so she could be _supportive_ after staying away all summer and not being able to stand by him as his family fell apart.

_Son of a bitch._

But as angry as she is with Archie for spending every single day with her while harboring such a dirty secret, it’s not even a _match_ to how she’s feeling about Veronica. How could she do this? How could she _seduce_ her boyfriend and run away without saying a word?

This has to end. People need to _know_ who she really is, and the Blue and Gold won’t find out why _alone_.

She leaves her Twitter app, changing it to her phone, and presses the key to dial the redhead in her favorites contacts, waiting for her to pick up.

“Yes?” Cheryl answers somewhat rudely on her end.

“I need your help taking Veronica down once and for all.” She admits, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m willing to go full dark, no stars.”

“Oh, Betty,” Cheryl sighs, her voice _just_ a tad mean under a layer of sugar. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Veronica arrives back to the Five Seasons just as the October sun starts to set. She spent most of her day with Kevin — which was actually, and surprisingly, very nice. He is funny, smart, with great taste for music and fashion. Most importantly, he seemed to be interested in getting to know her, and not only in learning about _old Veronica_. He’s given her his number when they said goodbye, and Veronica intends to use it.

The lobby is bright and warm, welcoming her as she strides past the concierge. It’s weird to live in a hotel after almost a year living in a dorm in boarding school.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Veronica Lodge.”

A familiar voice surprises her.

She turns around and is met with her old friend, Elio Grande.

The Grandes are old business partners and friends of the Lodges. When Hermione tore up the apartment, they offered her an exclusive suite with the utmost privacy during their stay. All very hush-hush, of course.

He looks as good as he always has: blonde hair, chiseled jawline, and groomed brows. Elio now is a freshman at Columbia, studying economics with a set future on Wall Street, but he was one of the elder _Stonies_ back when she was Spence's “queen”.

Veronica walks forward and wraps her arms around him, glad to find another friend who’s happy to see her.

“I’m in a rush, but let’s catch up?” He says with his cell in hand.

“Of course.” She takes the phone and starts typing.

“So will I see you at the party tomorrow night?” He asks while she enters her number.

Veronica can’t help but chuckle humorlessly. She’s managed to keep Betty out of her mind for most of the day, but now she thinks back to their unfortunate encounter this morning. “I wasn’t invited.”

“Ah. Some catfights at school in honor of your return, then?” He jokes.

Veronica offers him a wistful smile. “Something like that.”

“Well, I have two plus-ones if you’re interested. I’ll text you.” He promises. And with a kiss on her cheek, he dashes out the entrance.

She arrives home a few moments later, peeking her head around the quiet suite. At first, she thinks maybe her mother is out. Or worse, she’s drinking. But the wet bar shows no signs of activity.

Padding into the master bedroom, she pushes open Hermione’s double doors and sees her sleeping soundly with a soft yellow lamp on. Fearing the worst, she imagines the slip of a pill or a day of consuming alcohol to have her fast asleep before dinner time.

But, Veronica tries to be understanding, another new practice of hers, and tries to think of all her mother is going through. She probably _is_ tired, noting no prescription bottles but only a cold teacup with dried oolong leaves scattered around the saucer.

Hermione, like her daughter, has had quite the year. And Veronica wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, needing to be a strong sense of support like she promised.

She pulls off her coat and slips in under the cool sheets, placing a gentle hand on her mother’s silk-clad arm. It’s been a long day, filled with ups and downs, but she drifts off to the first restful sleep since her return.

* * *

_happy hump day, upper east siders. it’s finally the day we waited two whole days for: the kiss on the lips party. everybody is invited. well, almost everybody. word is that **#veronicalodge** can’t come to this one. but it’s not like she cares about her reputation, anyway. the only question left is… what do you care about, **#archieandrews**?_

* * *

The limo is filled with shrill laughter and a thick haze of Reggie's pot smoke. Cheryl is, as usual, with her phone in her hand, complaining about something and Reggie is, as usual, attempting to flirt with anyone who breathes next to him.

“Have I told you, you’re lookin’ fine, Coop?”

Reggie seems not to notice the blonde girl rolling her eyes at his comment. She clutches her champagne glass close as she sits shoulder to shoulder with Cheryl.

On the seat across from them, Archie can’t find himself to care about any of this. He has zero interest in attending this party, but he promised his mom. And he also promised Betty, weeks ago. She did every single thing she previously asked him to do herself: arranged the limo and bought champagne for the group to enjoy.

He wondered why she didn’t want him to do any of these things — apparently, they got back together after that walk to school, but he hadn’t seen her again for the rest of the day _or_ this morning. She only texted him to tell him what time the car would stop by this house. Probably the weirdest reconciliation that ever was.

Archie feels like he didn’t get a say in any of it.

The second-hand smoke is, perhaps, getting him a bit stoned. Archie is not a big fan of weed, although he doesn’t mind his friend using it — he obviously smoked a few times, but he wouldn't enjoy the way it opened his head and pulled him into some crazy, spiral, non-stop thinking. He tries not to breathe in so deeply and leans back on the seat, looking out the car window.

As soon as he allows his thoughts to free-flow, they immediately revert back to Veronica. He’s wary about seeing her at the party, now that their secret wasn’t no longer only _theirs._ But just like he manned-up and told Betty, he figures he’ll need to come forward to Veronica as well. What his father said earlier about mistakes and owning them still resonating with him.

Plus, it felt wrong to just accept Betty’s terms and conditions and never speak to her again without, at least, telling her why.

Kevin Keller arrives in a well-fitted navy suit to pick her up right on time. She texted Elio earlier about taking him up on his offer for the extra tickets. Hermione had been insistent she go at the opportunity and Veronica decided to invite her new friend — if someone deserved to attend a party like this, it was Kevin, who has been dreaming about it ever since getting into Stonewall.

School was easier today. She and Reggie were already old news, apparently — people had been whispering about other stuff that maybe didn’t involve her for once. She’s always been somewhat grateful for the Upper East Side’s attention span when it comes to gossip.

Throughout the day, Veronica avoided a run-in with Betty and Cheryl like the plague. She didn’t want another show, although she was still trying to figure out why Betty changed her mind about fixing their friendship so fast.

But _okay_ — maybe she had been naive thinking Betty would just forgive her after one charcoal drink and some chit-chat. Lord knows that things aren't that simple. Also, Betty has been under Cheryl Blossom’s influence for way too long. Veronica still hoped it was just a matter of time until they could get it right.

Veronica dug out her little black satin Gucci dress, having not worn anything this revealing in nearly a year. It fit even better than before — she’d gained a little weight in the right places after all the _healthy lifestyle_ she tried to chase back in New Hampshire. Opting for no other accessories besides her pearl earrings, she added a swipe of Russian Red on her lips and slipped on her favorite Louboutins before meeting Kevin in the lobby.

Elio rolls in wearing a beautiful emerald suit, waving at her from across the room. He brings her in for a brief hug, smelling like his signature aftershave before he turns to Kevin with a smile.

“Elio Grande. How do you do?”

Kevin takes the offered handshake and introduces himself. “Kevin. Keller.”

“Haven’t seen you around before, KK.”

Veronica chuckles when she sees a flush going up Kevin’s cheeks.

“You used to go to Stonewall too, right?” Kevin regains a bit of his composure and narrows his eyes, as if he’s thinking back on all the blasts he’s read from before his time.

“Clearly graduated in the wrong year,” Elio smirks and wraps his arm around Veronica’s waist. “Shall we go?”

The car is waiting for them outside. The party started an hour ago, but Veronica always prefers to arrive at parties later than expected. Especially when she _shouldn’t_ be going in the first place.

Betty does her round of check-ins with the DJ, the caterers and the photographer. She takes pictures with Cheryl and Ginger, who are both participating in the fundraiser too, all three of them with tight-lipped good-girl smiles. When that’s over, she takes a glass of water instead of champagne and looks around to find Archie.

Her boyfriend stands along the perimeter of the room, sipping from a cup and observing the crowd as if he’s looking for something.

Or _someone_ , she ends up thinking, even though she knows this is one night Veronica is not going to ruin.

Archie looks nice as usual, all dressed in black except for his metallic grey tie. She approaches him and lands a hand to his forearm, leaning up to kiss him chastely on the mouth.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m glad we’re putting the past behind us, Arch,” she says, because they _will_ be putting the past behind them and he needs to remember that.

Archie opens his mouth, like he maybe has something to say, but just closes it again and presses his lips together in a thin line.

Betty doesn’t have much time to react to her boyfriend’s silence, because soon there’s a large hand on her back, right where the hem of where her yellow dress ends. The warmth startles her for a second before she realizes it’s just Reggie.

“If you two are discussing a way to spice up the night, know that I'm down for threesomes.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “I’ll catch you later,” she tells Archie, planting another quick kiss on his mouth before she leaves.

Archie watches Betty go, tuning Reggie out completely while he replays her words in his head. The last two days, she’s done all the talking.

He didn’t _really_ agree to get back together with her but then again, he didn’t even _break up_ with her first. He just decided to do the right thing and suddenly they were latched onto each other again.

He was scared that opening his mouth and saying _anything_ would just end up hurting her again, so it was better to keep quiet.

“Damn, everyone is going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow. Thankfully, I’ll wake and bake, works every time.”

Archie is shaken out of his thoughts by his friend’s commentary on the group of girls sipping hard liquor out of a flask.

All of them look pretty in their dresses, as they usually do for these functions. But no one could hold a candle to the girl walking through the front doors. Maybe it’s just some late pot smoke effect, but everything else blurs around them, and Archie can’t help but stare. His heart pounds in his chest — he wasn’t ready to see her so soon.

He remembers when she would get dolled up, sparkly short skirts and high heels, dark makeup around her eyes, going out until all hours of the night and texting him to confirm she was home so he (and Betty) wouldn’t get worried.

But right now, he can only focus on how beautiful she looks. A different kind of beautiful. Tan legs leading up to her satin black dress, red lips curved up in a smirk, her hair down and longer than it was when he was threading his fingers through it while she laid her head on his chest a year ago.

She has her arm hooked with some tall, green-eyed guy he recognizes from Stonewall. If Archie’s not mistaken, he’s on the wrestling team.

He blows out a breath. He shouldn’t be focusing on this, tonight of all nights. The only thing he should focus on is that _mess_ he created. Betty knows about them, and Veronica doesn’t know that she knows. He should find a way to talk to her even though he (didn’t) promise he wouldn’t.

However, he can’t help but feel a slight discomfort in his throat when he sees the wrestler guy leaning in and saying something that makes her laugh, tipping her head back. By his side, Reggie seems oblivious and _high_.

Archie remembers the blasts he ended up reading on Monday night. The Blue and Gold even said that _“Veggie”_ was on again.

“Who’s that with Veronica?” He ends up asking, nodding towards the entrance. She’s talking to Elio Grande too, a guy who used to go to school with them. Reggie looks at them, thankfully unbothered. “I thought you two…”

He chuckles. “Nah. We didn’t even hook up,” he says. “But I’m not jealous. Keller is gay.”

Some wave of relief that Archie was _not_ expecting to experience washes over him. He scratches the back of his neck. “How do you even know that?”

Reggie turns to him with a _look_ and suggestively wiggles his eyebrows.

In spite of himself, Archie laughs. “You’re full of shit.”

Elio shrugs out of his jacket and it has Veronica offering to take Kevin’s too, saying she’ll drop them at the coat check. It’s her first _official_ outing since she’s been back, and after everything that happened at school with Cheryl and Betty, she needs a few minutes alone to take in her surroundings and prepare herself.

In New Hampshire, nobody knew her and the only parties she went to were in the woods with fires crackling and guys drinking from beer kegs. They weren’t so common either. It was one thing, going out with Reggie to a nightclub full of strangers, but walking into the Kiss on the Lips party (that she wasn’t even properly invited to) was something completely different.

Veronica leaves the boys mingling by the lobby bar and already feels eyes on her, hearing whispers the whole way to the back.

 _We’ll be back in 10!_ reads on the hotel’s coat check window. She waits a moment before craning her neck to see any staff headed in her direction. When there’s not, she moves past into the expansive closet, filled with chrome racks and designer coats.

She hangs up both Elio and Kevin’s on hangers near the back of the room, before setting her clutch down nearby to pull the faux fur down her bare arms.

“Ronnie?”

The voice and the nickname covers her entire body with goosebumps. She takes a whole second before turning around.

He’s there, as expected, looking like a prince, also as expected. _Betty’s prince_ , she reminds herself. She swallows and plasters a smile on her face, as if the last time they’d seen each other wasn’t _painful_.

“Archie, hey! I was just hanging the—” she points to the general direction of the racks around them. “They’re on a break, you should come back later.”

She’s already leaving the spot, towards the door, when he gently grabs her arm to stop her, in the place just above her elbow. “Wait, Veronica,” he asks. It sparks where he touches her and they jerk back, letting go.

Veronica looks up at him. There’s sincerity and a hint of worry in his amber eyes, and it gets her stomach sinking.

“I need to talk to you.”

He’s too close. Veronica takes a small step back, holding her arm in the place he touched. Her skin is warm. “Archie…” She starts, not sure of how she can make herself clearer than she already did.

He shakes his head, that characteristic flush coming up to his face, across his freckled cheekbones. “I told her,” he says in a rush. There’s a crease in his forehead as he watches her intently.

_I told her._

Veronica parts her lips, taking a bigger step back. Her heart slams against her chest. He told Betty. He told Betty about their night, about her reason to leave. He told her about their betrayal.

She gasps for air, her lungs suddenly empty and her eyes starting to burn as she stares at his face. Everything makes perfect sense, suddenly. How Betty so quickly _dropped_ their plan of rebuilding their friendship, why she snapped at her yesterday. Veronica feels _so dumb_ — she _knew_ that wasn’t Betty’s natural behavior, she should’ve imagined something else had happened.

Except Veronica never thought, for _one second_ , that Archie would do that to her.

“How could you do this?” She asks, taken aback, her hands kind of numb. “How could you tell Betty?! You ginger Judas!” Her voice gets one pitch higher. Her vision blurs and she’s suddenly _so angry_. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

He looks baffled by her reaction. “I was trying to do the right thing,” he says, as if it should be _obvious_.

“Well, _that_ wasn’t _it_!” She ends up on the verge of yelling. “I wanted to forget about the past and fix _this_! How can you go and share our secret behind my back?!” She throws her hands in the air and narrows her eyes at him.

The tone of his voice changes when he speaks again, louder, exasperated. “So you just expected me to keep it as a secret for the rest of our lives?!”

“ _Oh,_ I’m sorry,” Veronica scoffs. The face Archie makes — a mix of confusion, hurt and anger — gets her even more annoyed. “I didn’t realize that all of a sudden you were the most honest guy on the planet.”

It’s slightly satisfying to see him flinch at her words. It also makes her livid that they’re in this position at all. His forehead wrinkles with a scowl. “What did you prefer me to do then, Veronica, huh?” He asks, sharply. “Run away?”

This time, she’s the one flinching. She sinks her teeth on her lower lip, her cheeks going warm. She takes a deep breath and lets her arms drop to the side of her body. It’s only after a long second just _looking_ and recognizing the pain in his eyes that she feels brave enough to speak. “I get it. You're hurt.” She starts in a softer, controlled voice.

Archie shakes his head with determination and the prominent scar creasing between his brows. “No, you _don't_ get it, Veronica. You didn't wake up alone to find out I was _gone_. You didn't spend _eleven months and twelve days_ lying to Betty’s face and feeling guilty. You didn't spend all this time asking yourself if it even meant anything.”

His voice gets stronger with every word he says. Archie looks at her like he never did before and she feels naked, but a different kind, like he’s staring right into her soul.

There’s a part of her that rips open. The other, the intact part wants, _wishes_ , to say _how can you even think it didn’t mean anything_ , just to prove him wrong. Just to make the past months of unhappiness worth something.

Veronica opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead, Archie continues, his words sounding bitter. “Guess what? Running away didn't undo it, Veronica. And you can pretend we didn't happen all you want, but we did.”

She breathes faster, her eyes even _more_ blurry, and this time she’s pretty sure she’s about to cry. Veronica tilts her chin up, absolutely _not_ allowing him to realize how scarred her own heart is, but then the loud click of a camera makes them turn towards the entrance.

A flurry of red darts past the door, leaving a firey trace behind.

_Cheryl._

“That shady bitch,” Veronica snarls, knowing that Archie saw her too.

A second later, Archie’s chasing after her as she flees the closet, running down the hallway in search of Cheryl Blossom.

“What do you think she’s gonna do?” Archie asks, forever oblivious to _how_ these things work. It would be endearing if Veronica wasn’t _pissed_.

“It’s _Cheryl_ ,” she answers, simply, as they rejoin the party.

Everyone is suddenly pointing and whispering in their direction.

Their phones are pinging and Archie pulls his out of his back pocket to open a tagged blast with _his_ red hair, close to her raven hair, talking in private only a few moments ago.

* * *

**_@blueandgold_ ** _here, and we didn’t expect this bomb to drop, but what is a wednesday night without some nuclear power? remember when we spent so long asking ourselves why v left our beloved island? well, all this time, the reason was just under **#bettycooper** ’s nose. or, at the very least, under her boyfriend’s sheets. it looks like **#archieandrews** and **#veronicalodge** did something they shouldn’t have after a certain wedding last year. did you see that coming? yep. we’re sorry, b, but we kinda did._

* * *

_Skank_ , _slut_ and _tramp_ are just a few of the terms tossed in Veronica’s direction and Archie gets angrier with each word that’s whispered around them.

 _What a fucking whore,_ someone says behind him.

He watches the glint of tears in Veronica’s eyes before they freeze, a defense mechanism of hers he knows well. She looks directly at the blonde and redhead girl who were once her best friends. A second later, that guy, Keller, is at her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leading her out into the hallway.

_A backstabbing hoe, that’s what she is._

_Ha-ha, Andrews always knew how to score anyway._

Of course they’d think he’s a hero and that she’s the devil. Of course they’d congratulate him and place all the blame upon her.

Archie clenches his jaw, his heart cracking at how this will only get everyone _hurt_. _Again_.

He turns his head, seeing Betty snickering with Cheryl as they watch the empty space by his side where Veronica was. His eyes meet Betty’s for a second — just like the other day, he can’t really recognize her. The past couple days have been an immense lesson on how you can know someone your entire life and still not know them at all.

Her eyes harden like two stones. Archie feels his stomach stir and, with a glare and a slight shake of his head, turns around, ready to leave this place. He can’t stand there and hear people calling Veronica all these names.

He doesn’t bother with his coat. He just _bolts_ , hoping for fresh air, loosening his tie when he steps outside.

He barely has time to take a deep breath when he feels a hand pulling at his arm.

It’s Betty.

“What, are you going after her, now?!”

“ _No_ ,” he grimaces. “Why the hell did you do that, Betty?! I told that to _you_ because I thought you deserved to know, not for—”

“Oh, this is _my fault_ now?” Betty sneers. “She _jumped_ you, ran away, and lied about it. Am I supposed to just let her get away with it?!”

“She didn’t _jump_ me. I was in perfect condition for making that decision myself,” he blurts out.

“So that’s _why_ you were alone with her in the closet? Hoping for a quickie? You said you’d never speak to her again!”

“ _Fuck that_ , Betty. I was alone with her to tell her that you knew, that I told you because I felt guilty, and because I thought it was the right thing to do. But instead you tell Cheryl about it and you use this to shame her in front of everyone? Who are you now, Polly?”

Betty takes a step back, a gleam coming back to her irises. Archie feels his blood boiling and his head is spinning. He also feels like pure shit for having just said that, knowing what happened to her sister. Shaking his head, he blows out a breath. “We can’t have this conversation right now.”

“Go to hell,” Betty snarls, turning around to walk back into the party with precise steps. Archie runs his hands through his red hair.

What a fucking mess.

When Veronica wakes up, she feels disgusting. It’s almost the same feeling she had all this time ago, when she left Mary Andrews’s apartment and stepped into the dawn. She stirs, feeling someone else on her bed, and remembers how Kevin Keller stayed by her side as she cried herself to sleep after leaving the party.

Veronica opens her swollen eyes and finds him sleeping soundly on the other side of the mattress, left in his boxers and a white undershirt from the previous night.

Her mouth is dry and tastes like salt. She wasn’t even supposed to go to that stupid party.

Rolling onto her back, she stares at the ceiling and recalls all the events that took place in the last twelve hours. From Archie’s words, to Cheryl taking that picture, and _Betty_. Veronica cannot get the look of Betty’s face out of her mind. It made her sick, though perhaps she fully deserved all the punishment and this is her karma.

She was truly grateful for Kevin at that moment. He just pulled her into his embrace and got her out of there so fast. Trusting people to see her vulnerable has never been a strong suit of hers, not since Archie and Betty, ironically, but Kevin proved himself a worthy friend last night. He took care of her when she needed it most, rubbed her back soothingly as she broke down in violent sobs.

Veronica isn’t sure if she _deserves_ someone like him in her life, but she sure is lucky to have found him.

He starts to move next to her, waking up. He glances over at her with adorable bedroom eyes, pushing her to try a small smile.

“How are you feeling?” He asks kindly. “Any better?”

It’s a loaded question, but the truth is out and as much as she’s tried running from it, Archie was right: she didn’t know what to expect when she left, but it didn’t undo it. And now, the whole world knows she’s someone who betrayed the person she loved the most.

“I’m…” She just breathes out as an answer. Kevin moves to prop his head in his hand, elevated on his elbow and looks down at her intently. “I’ve got to talk to Betty and try to explain or at least apologize. I never meant to break her trust or hurt her feelings.”

It’s true. She knows it sounds like bullshit — there’s always _a moment_ where you can say _no_ to things when you want to say _yes_.

“And what about your feelings?” Kevin asks, green eyes focused on her.

Veronica laughs a little humorlessly. “My feelings don’t matter, Kev.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Kevin places his hand on her arm in a soothing manner. “Of course they do.”

 _No. They don't,_ she tells herself. They shouldn’t matter. _Betty_ matters. Her sister, her best friend, the one she betrayed and abandoned, the one that looked at her last night like she was nothing.

After a few seconds, he breaks the silence. “Veronica?” He asks thoughtfully. “Were you in love with Archie?”

Her mind ventures to last night, the way he said _you can pretend that we didn’t happen, but we did._

Yes, they did. She remembers as if it was yesterday: they were so close inside the elevator, _so_ close she was breathing in the air he was breathing out. She did say they shouldn’t do that, and he did agree, but when his lips grazed hers there was no turning back.

He sucked her entire soul with that kiss. She left her own body and was suddenly inside _his_ body.

She could’ve pulled back and chosen Betty. She _should’ve_ pulled back and chosen Betty. It hurts that she didn’t, that she gave in to what she had been holding inside.

Veronica looks away, a tear falling from the corner of her left eye.

“Now you know why I had to leave.”

* * *

**_spotted:_** _poor b back home, alone. will she stop at that, or is world war III upon us? we hear she’s got more of her sister’s fire than we thought. meanwhile, v was escorted back to the five seasons and her mystery man is a mystery no longer. his name is_ — _ugh, who cares? now that we heard about **#varchie** his 15 minutes are over. we won’t say the kiss on the lips party was a total dud, but we’re sad to say no one was actually caught kissing on the lips._

* * *

Cheryl spreads out across her red damask comforter, sipping her tea and unlocking the home screen of her phone.

She took a stroll around the party, sneaking around and snapping pictures in the dark corners to exploit any skeletons in her classmates’ closets. The best stuff always happened in the first or last forty minutes of any event.

She only stayed for the first forty. The blast ended up interrupting the normal program.

Her crimson acrylic nail taps along the screen, scrolling through the most recent photos in her album. People using drugs, hitting on each other, and other worthless pictures. Her best work was definitely the Archie and Veronica shot, perfect ammunition to pass onto her blonde minion. It was about time Betty did something worthy of that position.

Now, everyone knows Veronica’s true motives for leaving, which should stop the excitement about her return. She would probably still be the main subject at school, but no one else would _miss_ their fallen former queen.

Cheryl starts to delete everything that isn’t worth keeping, leaving only Archie and Veronica’s behind. But then, she lands on a photo she hadn’t looked at closely: the couple in it, making out in the shadows, is at the very least _surprising_. She feels the corner of her lips curling up.

“Well, well,” she says aloud and pleased, taking another sip of her tea. “Let’s save this one for a rainy day.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Cheryl just find out? Was this chapter scandalous enough? What's going to happen with Barchie? And Varchie? And Veggie? Will Beronica ever be friends again? 😱 We see Kevin here for the first time, and Cheryl's POV too!
> 
> We're having the most fun writing this AU. Check our tumblr, @andsmile and @monicaposh if you want some tea between updates.
> 
> Thank you so much for the support. Stay with the soundtrack now!
> 
>   * The Windupdeads - Reverse of Shade (song at the beginning)
>   * Cold War Kids - Hang Me Up to Dry (flashback song)
>   * Rihanna - Shut Up and Drive (conflict at Spence / Cheryl’s scene at the end)
>   * Blake Neely - Angry and Vulnerable Girls (closet scene)
>   * One Republic - Come Home (both Barchie fighting and Kev/Ronnie talking)
> 



	3. #clashofqueens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Hope you're hanging in there during these weird times. We've had some highs and lows ~~of high school football~~ this week but we never stopped writing and we hope you enjoy this chapter! That. Is. Full. Of. Draaaama! Hahaha.
> 
> We'd like to remind you guys that this is a **multi-character, multi-ship** fic so if your preferred ship still didn't get content, it probably will. That being said, this chapter is very centered on non-ship dynamics, and a new character joins the trope! We're excited for you to read. 💋

**— i don't know what i knew before  
but now i know i wanna win the war —**

****

_Veronica sat in Betty’s room, wearing an oversized Harvard hoodie as they looked through college catalogs and fashion magazines, adding bits of inspiration to their dream boards. Hal bought two cork board panels for them to decorate. He said they would keep the girls on track for their aspirations._

_Betty’s plan was determined before they had even met: Brown (just like her sister), journalism (just like her mom), Archie (just hers)._

_Veronica had one thing on her list: Harvard (just like Daddy). Everything else was kinda secondary. She’d probably go to business school and take over Lodge Industries, so that was already set in stone. She was still thirteen, and no prince charming had proposed to her when they were seven, so she aspired for a little more._

_“I’m going to marry Nick Jonas.” Veronica sighed wistfully, placing a photo of her preferred Jonas Brother on her corkboard. Betty giggled — her board already had four different pictures of Archie in different stages of their lives._

_“And we’re going to double-date in Paris,” Betty placed a picture of the Eiffel Tower on her board. Veronica smiled, excited as she twisted the silver heart ring round and round on her middle finger. Betty gifted her the dainty band this year, cementing the first anniversary of their friendship._

_Betty wore an identical one but in gold. She also had her Brown hoodie on, one that she and Polly bought together, much to Alice Cooper’s dismay. Betty’s hoodie was grey with maroon letters, and Veronica’s was maroon with grey letters._

_They were a matching set._

_“Think we’ll get to live together before you marry Archie?” Veronica asked. Betty looked confused for a second. “You and me! Not me and Nick Jonas.”_

_“Maybe you can live with me even after I marry Archie.” Betty laughed, latching onto Veronica’s side. “No boy will ever keep us apart.”_

* * *

_bonjour, upper east siders. we regret telling you our tea has gone cold. ever since the kiss on the lips party last week, we can't find anything worth announcing. we were eager to see where **#varchie** vs **#barchie** would lead us — btw, thanks for voting, and we agree — but it feels like it has been in vain. v has retreated into oblivion and we've yet to learn the fate of a and b after the ashes fell._

_we’re blaming it on **#ivyweek**. it's not always easy being the spawn of the fabulously wealthy. we know that in this world, you're either a legacy, you marry into one, or you're nobody. super successful parents expect nothing less from their offspring. for some, it's harvard. others, yale. for us? we just want our diploma in chaos._

* * *

“Daddy!” Veronica answers the phone with a genuine smile on her face, the first this week. She notices how her mom stops drinking her coffee at the breakfast table, lowering the newspaper _just_ a little bit.

“Palomita,” Hiram Lodge greets over the phone. Veronica feels her cheeks warm up at her childhood nickname. “Prepared to charm that Harvard rep this week?”

She takes a deep breath. She _hopes_ she is prepared, even after everything that happened in her first week back. Her grades are on point as usual — the only thing Veronica never played with — and Headmistress Honey didn’t care for any of the bullshit they’d been whispering about her in the school hallways ever since the party.

She’s kept quiet all these days, hanging out only with Kevin in lowkey spots or staying home to study. The only place she went besides school was the Phoenix Center, where Hermione started seeing a new specialist for the new phase of her treatment.

It was time to let go of the past and focus on the future. Which meant focusing on Harvard.

Veronica’s father is a proud Harvard alum and it’s one of the only things they still have to talk about. Ever since he moved to Miami three years ago, she’s had to get used to not being daddy’s little girl anymore. However, he was always pulling for her to attend his alma mater and follow in his footsteps.

“I promise I’ll make you proud,” she says, biting her lower lip and ignoring the slight raise of Hermione’s eyebrow.

“I need you getting serious, Veronica. No more fooling around. We can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I’ve turned a new leaf, Daddy. I promise you. No more scandal.”

“The Friday night reception is important, but the mixer—”

“—is where they’ll get to know who I am,” she repeats the words Hiram taught her a long time ago.

“Very well. I am running late for a meeting, but I’ll reach out to hear how you did.”

She’s about to say _bye, Daddy_ , but he already hung up. Veronica sighs and tosses her phone into her vintage Valentino, one she found by accident inside a box labeled _shoes_. Hermione glances back down at the newspaper.

“Is _Papi_ coming to support you this weekend?” Hermione asks with _just_ the right amount of sharpness to make Veronica notice.

“He didn’t mention it,” Veronica says, almost rolling her eyes. She stops in front of the mirror on the wall and fluffs her hair. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. With or without Daddy, I’m going to impress the Harvard rep.”

Hermione doesn’t say anything about that. Instead, she discards the beige napkin from her lap and settles for an _mhm_ , followed by, “Is Alice Cooper finally allowing Betty to consider Brown? You know, now that Polly is there?”

Hearing Betty’s name makes Veronica feel sick. “Mom, _please_ , stop asking questions. The only thing I want is to go away to college somewhere no one knows who I am. That’s my sole mission in life, okay?” She finishes getting her things. “Kevin’s downstairs, I’m gonna be late.”

“Betty!” Alice Cooper’s voice shrills from the kitchen. She enters the dining room and sets a plate down in front of her daughter, eggs sunny-side up and a piece of wheat toast.

“I think your mother was asking if you’re ready for your meeting with the Columbia rep this week,” her father, ever the sweet, offers an apologetic smile.

“I’m all set. We’ve got everything arranged for the reception and I’ve run through the list of discussion topics to weave into our conversation,” Betty says like a robot, thinking about them harping on the importance of her first impression with the New York City school. _Your whole future is riding on this, Elizabeth._

Which means _their_ future, the Coopers’ future, now that Polly is _unavailable_. They’ve been very vocal at how pleased they are that Betty has changed her mind and now wants to attend Columbia.

“I’m just glad you’ll be able to enjoy such a prestigious journalism program in the city where it all happens. And that your dream of living among the hipsters in Providence is finally gone,” Alice snickers at her own remark.

 _Gone._ Gone like her sister. Betty holds her breath, thinking about Polly locked away in that facility that couldn’t be farther from Brown, all of her dreams on hold.

Hal sips from his ceramic blue mug, tossing an encouraging wink at his youngest child. The pressure they suffocated their elder with has somehow lessened with Betty, especially since Dr. Zhang put her on meds after the diagnosis. Betty doesn’t think they’re doing this out of _kindness_ — she thinks they just know their family couldn’t handle another disaster.

Which is probably _why_ she changed her mind about Brown.

“Is Archibald still planning to usher Dartmouth?” Alice asks, spreading sugar-free strawberry jam over her own toast.

Betty has no idea. She hasn’t talked to him too much this week — he apologized for his mistakes, all of them, once again (and it’s funny how Betty thought he could do _no wrong_ before last week) and she felt too drained to fight, so she just said _okay_.

The last time they’ve seen each other was the very same day he apologized. They are, perhaps, avoiding each other just a little bit.

“Yes, of course.” She says with a small mouth, unsure if it’s a lie or not.

“And Veronica still has her eyes set on Harvard? I’ll say that they’ll lose my respect a bit if they accept her.”

Betty can’t help the jolt of anger she feels at her former friend’s name. _Another reason_ why changing from Brown to Columbia seemed like the best option. She bites the inside of her mouth. Throughout the week, she’s seen Veronica a little more than she’s seen Archie — keeping her head low, arriving early to class and getting out as soon as the bell rang, not saying a word.

Betty only stops biting her lip when she tastes metal.

“Yep,” she says curtly, wiping her mouth with the yellow napkin. “Veronica’s always had her eyes on things that were out of her reach.”

Cheryl sits in the middle of the mahogany dining table as she watches her parents poke at their food, distracted by newspapers and gadgets. She places her decaf green teacup on the table with a louder _bang_ than necessary and continues to talk. They are _not_ letting her down today. She worked _an entire year_ for this week.

“Anyway, Headmistress Honey said I'm _obvi_ top three in my class, so I should be the one in charge of organizing the dinner on Friday,” she brags in a chirpy tone. “She also thinks I have a great chance for early admission at Yale.”

“That’s nice,” Clifford says with zero emotion, scrolling aimlessly through his tablet. Cheryl isn’t sure if he’s responding to her or if he just saw a cat meme — her father has always sounded like a robot no matter the subject.

She tilts her head up, blowing out a controlled breath. “I also made sure that Marmaduke Mason will usher Mr. Chipping so I can have more time with him during the mixer.”

“Is that this weekend?” Penelope’s attention _finally_ seems to pick up a little. Cheryl almost sighs in relief — took them only twenty minutes to react, this time.

“Yes, mumsy.”

Her mother looks down the table at her husband, reaching out to touch his hand. “Oh, Clifford darling, aren’t we going to be in Milan? The meeting with Mr. Elenterio.”

“Yes, that’s right,” her father says after he checks something on the tablet. “We booked the tickets a month ago.”

Cheryl’s entire body goes cold, except for her face. She reaches slowly for the fork on her plate. If this was a movie, she’d get away with standing up and _stabbing_ her parents’ hands, pinning them to the wooden top. But this is real life, so she just swallows as discreetly as she can, and stabs the fruit in her bowl instead. “I have been telling you about this since summer.”

Clifford and Penelope do that thing they’ve done for as long as she can remember — they look at each other in a careful way, almost like Cheryl is some stranger they don’t know how got into their house.

“Must’ve slipped our minds,” Clifford says and even _smiles_ , all nonchalant. Cheryl tightens her grip on the fork. “Darling, do you think we can stop by the bank together before you head to the atelier? The manager needs both our signatures.”

“That’s right, okay,” Penelope takes one final sip of her coffee and pats her lips with the red napkin. “I’ll tell Brad to send over a few dresses for you to pick for your thing, Cheryl.” Her mother gets up and her father follows, already leaving the dining room. She stops when she passes behind Cheryl’s chair and touches her hair briefly. “The least you can do is advertise one of my designs.”

Archie walks down Bedford Ave to catch the L for school. Most of his friends relied on cabs and drivers, not even _owning_ a MetroCard, but as a kid, his father taught him the ways of the New York subway and he’s used it ever since.

This past week has been _a lot_. His mother is really hoping he gets to usher for Dartmouth, and she keeps reminding him in sweet ways, so condescending that he ended up choosing to spend most of his time with Fred over the bridge, missing him even more lately. This morning, his kind eyes shone with pride, telling him _Yes, son, I think Dartmouth is a great school_ and then, with _just_ a tad of sadness that will never not break Archie’s heart, _it’ll make your mom proud._

Truth is, Archie doesn’t want to be a lawyer like his mom, but he rarely gets to do what he wants, anyway. He wishes he was more like Reggie, who is _actually_ pretty focused on these things despite it all. Princeton has been the Mantles’ legacy for generations and Marty expected nothing less from his boys.

Sometimes, Archie imagines going up to Mary and saying that he has absolutely no will to go to college, even less to _law school_. That, if it was _his_ choice, he’d be a musician, joining a band to play the guitar and write lyrics across the country. He also imagines his mom’s face if he said that. She’d probably laugh, thinking it’s sweet, and tell him to stop joking.

There’s only one person he ever shared his secret with, but she didn’t come back for him.

Archie feels bad for thinking this, for still being hurt even though all _he_ did was hurt Veronica too. Betty and Cheryl sent the blast, but Archie knows now that he shouldn’t have told Betty before talking to Ronnie first. Now, she didn’t seem to be anywhere, definitely avoiding him, and he couldn’t even apologize.

He probably _will_ see Veronica at this morning’s assembly, though. She _and Betty_. But he’s going either way because, at this point, he might as well just try and make his parents happy, since he managed to make everyone else sad.

He takes out his MetroCard and swipes it at the gate, seeing the rush of people moving to travel into the city. The sound of an incoming train echoes through the tunnel while he waits for his line to arrive. The song he’s listening to says something like _mistresses have all the fun, but no one’s ever there to take you home._

Finally boarding, Archie moves into the train car and sees one last seat. He’s about to take it but offers it to the pregnant woman who barely makes it through the closing doors in time.

Six songs change before the train approaches Manhattan. The farther north it runs, the more people get out, most of the suits getting off in midtown. In the wagon, only a few people remain, and amongst them, Archie notices a boy who entered the train with him downtown. He’s wearing a grey beanie, large headphones covering his ears.

When Archie gets off at 86th Street, the soundtrack changes drastically to a New Order remastered song. He bounces his head to it as he starts walking to school, and glances over his shoulder for no reason. He frowns when he realizes the beanie-wearing boy is right behind him.

Archie shakes it off. However, when he turns the corner, the guy does the _exact_ same thing. _Fucking Blue and Gold followers_ , he thinks as he removes his AirPods.

“Dude, are you following me?” He asks, not too friendly.

The other teen seems taken aback for a split second. He removes his large headphones too, frowning in confusion. “What?”

“Are you following me?” Archie repeats, annoyed.

The guy makes a face. “ _No._ We go to school together,” he says as he pulls at his Stonewall blazer. “I’m surprised the matching uniforms didn’t give me away.”

Archie knits his eyebrows together although his ears _do_ burn. “Uh.”

“Yeah,” the boy says. “And we’re gonna be late to the assembly, so if you’ll excuse me.” He puts his headphones back on and crosses the street, making his way through the Stonewall gate.

He swears to God he has never seen that guy in his life.

“Well,” Kevin sighs, touching her shoulder, “have fun in West Berlin.”

Veronica laughs. Another day to be grateful for Kevin Keller’s existence. Every day for a week now, he’s been escorting her from the Five Seasons to school, always excited to be around her. They started a small ritual of getting coffee during their walk every morning and this, more than anything else, is what’s keeping Veronica sane.

Since she doesn’t want to talk too much about herself — and since he has seen her entire life through the Blue and Gold blasts, apparently — she’s learning a lot about him. Kevin has been out since he was thirteen. Thankfully, this was never a problem for his parents, which was sort of surprising given his dad works for the NYPD and his mom is in the military. Veronica is happy for him — she still remembers the fit the Blossoms threw when they learned about Cheryl’s sexuality, considering her more of a liability.

Kevin doesn’t want to apply to an Ivy League school, hoping to attend West Point, but he still shows up at the assembly to support her. They can’t sit together — the protocol requires that Stonewall boys and Spence girls remain on their respective sides. _West and East Berlin_ , a recurring joke from both schools.

 _“Auf Wiedersehen,”_ Veronica says to him, walking up to the very last pew in the hall. Some girls whisper and giggle when she sits next to them — they even have the audacity of moving a bit to the side, so they get _further_ away from her as if she had some contagious disease. She sighs deeply. It’s been like this ever since the Kiss on the Lips party.

Other students start trickling in and she pretends not to hear the rude whispers about her, coming and going, but she offers a smile to anyone who will look her way. Most of them, and only then, stop pointing their accusatory fingers.

Even Reggie seems annoyed with her this week, saying something about feeling betrayed that she kept her secret with Archie from him. The problem was, it wasn’t only her secret to keep, even if Archie didn’t get that memo.

Headmistress Honey and Headmaster Weatherbee call the assembly to order, looking prepared to start talking to the junior class about their hardest week that's coming to a close. They emphasize what an honor this is for their schools and Veronica couldn’t agree more. As much as it hurts to have lost her friends, all her focus needs to be on Harvard.

She sees Betty and Cheryl sitting side-by-side in the front row, identical half-braids in bright blonde hair next to red, as they listen intently to the Headmaster’s words. The day she and Betty made their dream boards and promised that no boy would ever come between them feels like a lifetime ago.

Veronica fiddles with her pearl bracelet, eyes sweeping the rest of the room when she feels a set of honey irises weighing heavily on her. She bites her lip when she looks up, meeting his gaze.

Archie looks at her intently, maybe even a hint of worry creasing his forehead. She wishes she wouldn’t have looked at him, feeling exposed glancing back. They haven’t spoken since the party and she doesn’t think they will, anytime soon. Not if they don’t want the entire school to make something up about them.

Veronica could laugh bitterly with a _yep, we’re screwed_ smile. Any other year, she’d blow him a silly kiss like she and Betty used to do making him blush at school events.

Instead, she tightens her lips into a line before he turns his head back to the front, knee bouncing in the aisle. It almost makes her lips curl up. Archie always had a problem staying still during these things.

 _Oh, my God, did you see her looking at him? I swear she was_ someone says. Veronica fixes her gaze on a chip in the bench ahead and tries hard not to look at anyone, anymore.

The assembly runs as expected. The principals praise Cheryl for all her hard work organizing the events to come and she makes a quick, well-written speech about being proud to represent the students in this important moment. Veronica knows that, had she not left last fall, _she_ probably would be the one giving this speech. She doesn’t think it will make a difference when it comes to Harvard, but it sure makes her feel nostalgic.

It’s also strange to see Betty clapping hard in support of her new best friend.

After the customary formalities, everyone stands in line to sign their names on a list so they can get a task for the mixer. It should be randomly distributed. Both Cheryl and Betty are sitting at the committee table. With Kevin standing by her, Veronica channels all the courage she has to walk up to them.

“We’re out of tasks,” Cheryl says sharply when she sees Veronica. Betty doesn’t look at her, not _really_.

Veronica takes a deep breath. She was prepared for this. “You have about sixty spots left, Cheryl,” she says, sounding tired. She wishes she could just say: _put me out of my misery and let me do this so you get rid of me_.

Truth is, Veronica knows that Cheryl has absolutely _zero_ problems with the fact she slept with Archie. Between the five of them, Betty and Cheryl have never been so close, and their whole interaction often seems phony. No, Cheryl isn’t doing this because she loves Betty, she’s doing this because she _still_ thinks Veronica is out for her “crown”.

“Well, I don’t think we do,” Cheryl just closes the notebook. “Besides, why are you even here, anyway? Harvard doesn’t offer degrees in _two-faced bitch_.”

People around them laugh lowly, especially because the principals are still nearby. She can’t help but look at Betty — who seems as interested in her nails as Veronica was in the chipped wood.

She clenches her jaw. Kevin touches her wrist gently and it’s really grounding. “Okay, then,” Veronica forces herself to smile. She’ll get a task somehow, she’s just _not_ going to get into this right now, not if she’s trying to avoid punching Cheryl in the face. But then, before turning around, she remembers one detail that might hurt even more than a punch. “I hope Yale cares about your _trying-so-fucking-hard_ application since no one else does.”

Veronica pivots back to leave, curling an arm around Kevin’s bicep as they make their way out into the main hall.

“That was _riveting_ ,” he gushes. “I can’t breathe.”

Later in the day, Veronica stands in Spence’s locker room, lucky enough to secure a spot in the back corner away from the other girls. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and looks at the dreadful shin guards she has to sport during field hockey today.

Tying her white sneakers on the bench, she’s excited for a little endurance during school hours, missing the days spent outdoors in Hanover.

Cheryl’s familiar giggling carries through the room, reverberating against the metal frames. Veronica glances over her shoulder to watch her and Betty walking hand-in-hand towards their lockers. What was once the unstoppable trio they used to have in physical education feels a little more like two-on-one now, and the way Betty’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes makes Veronica’s stomachache.

They don’t seem to pay much attention to her presence. That is until Betty’s gaze travels towards her as if Betty knew she was standing there all along. B hasn’t really looked at her the entire week and now, that she does, there’s a _moment_ — just a split second — when Veronica can _really_ recognize her best friend in her eyes, and it fills her with some stupid hope.

Maybe they could just _talk_.

She breathes in and squares her shoulders, following Betty out of the locker room and onto the field. She’s starting to stretch her arms. _It’s now or never._

“Hey, B—” Veronica approaches Betty carefully. The blonde girl parts her lips, surprised. Veronica sustains her gaze, ready to ask if they can talk, when Cheryl appears out of _fucking nowhere_ , abruptly stopping in front of her.

“Uh-uh. Butt out, closet monster,” Cheryl holds her hand up to halt Veronica from walking any closer, red nails looking like claws. “You have forfeited your right to take the high and mighty road.”

 _That’s it._ She’s had it.

“What the hell are you now, Cheryl, Betty’s spokesperson?” Veronica blurts out. “Stop pretending you care about her. You and I both know that your fight is with me. That you’re just afraid now that I’m back I’ll want to take the crown because you know it was never meant to be yours, to begin with. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to—”

“Haven’t you noticed that I don’t want to talk to you, Veronica?” Betty comes forward, interrupting her.

Veronica swallows whatever else she has to say. Cheryl’s lips curl up, and Veronica could smash her pretty face with her hockey stick if she wasn’t more worried about the disgust in Betty’s eyes.

She keeps her head up, suddenly tired of running. “Look, Betty. I made a mistake with Archie, but if you could at least let me try to explain—”

“Explain _what_ exactly? That you slept with my boyfriend behind my back and then ran away?” Betty walks closer, pushing past Cheryl and meets Veronica face-to-face. Being slightly shorter, Veronica has to look up. “I know you better than anyone, Veronica. I know you just did it because you had no one else to go home with and make you feel better after Oliver’s wedding, so you sunk your teeth into Archie like he was just another one of your meaningless lays.”

Veronica tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Her eyes burn and she feels as ashamed as she was at the party, but maybe even _more_. She hates herself for what she did and also for what she can’t bring herself to tell Betty. She hates that she allowed them to get to this point. She hates that she has to stand here and pretend that Archie really meant nothing to her.

There’s no good way to answer Betty's accusation.

“Let’s go, B,” Cheryl holds out her hand to grab Betty’s hand. “Let’s not entertain this.”

Cheryl pulls Betty away from her, slinging the field hockey stick across her shoulders. The redhead girl glances behind her when they walk past Veronica and raises one eyebrow.

Veronica grinds her teeth. Betty, _okay_ , but she will be _damned_ if she’s going to let Cheryl win this game. And she is not talking about field hockey.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _a true clash of queens. pick your fighter, upper east siders. this is better than the game of thrones finale. what’s it gonna be? **#team-fire** or **#team-ice**? we have a feeling this battle will be to the death._

* * *

A bunch of Stonewall boys gathers outside Headmaster Weatherbee’s office, waiting for the official usher list to be posted. Reggie was — off the record — really nervous about it, so he asked Archie to check the list and see if he was chosen for Princeton.

The usher interviews were held this morning right after the assembly. Archie went through it by script, saying it would be an honor to usher Dartmouth’s rep, that he grew up hearing all about the school his mother attended, that it was her dream for him to follow her steps.

He doesn’t think he did a particularly good job to impress Weatherbee, especially paired up with most of his grades, so when the principal puts the usher list on the activities board, he’s quite surprised to see his own name beside Dartmouth.

He’s also quite surprised to see that boy from earlier here, still wearing the grey beanie, his headphones around his neck now. Archie saw him at the assembly too. He’s still a bit embarrassed about his sense of self-importance this morning, so he decides to _be nice_ when he notices that the guy is searching for his own name on the list with a crease between his eyebrows.

“Hey,” Archie greets, well-mannered. “Did you get the spot you wanted?”

“Uh, no, actually,” the guy says with an unimpressed laugh. “You did.”

 _Oh._ Archie doesn’t really know how to react to that. Is he supposed to say _I’m sorry_?

The guy pulls his beanie off, showing a head full of fluffy black hair, and smashes the woolen fabric between his fingers. “It makes total sense that you’d get Dartmouth since I am what, third in our class and you’re just…” he sighs, “Far from that.”

“No hard feelings, I see,” Archie says, knitting his eyebrows together.

“No, no. I’m sure you’ve earned it. Isn’t Mary Andrews Weatherbee’s personal attorney?”

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is with me, bro. But you don’t know anything about me _or_ my mom.” Archie feels his breathing pick up, the insult about his mother striking a nerve. Yes, Mary _is_ a big gun lawyer, something that changed their lives forever, but she worked hard every step of the way. “So just stop talking.”

The dark-haired boy keeps glaring at him, though he doesn’t say anything more. He just pulls his beanie back onto his head and shakes his head. “I just hope you have something more than sports to talk about with Matt Garcia.”

Archie doesn’t understand. He has generally gotten along with everybody, always finding some common conversational topic.

“Who are you even talking about?”

His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. “The Dartmouth rep? It might help your chances if you mentioned something about his book, _Food Across Borders_.”

Archie has never heard of that book in his life. Truthfully, he doesn’t spend much time reading at all. That was something Betty and Veronica had in common that excluded him entirely — they were both avid readers, Veronica even more than Betty.

The boy puts his headphones back over his ears and turns around without saying another word. Archie blows out a frustrated sigh. He’s met this guy twice now, surprisingly on the same day and, to be quite honest, he’s kind of an asshole.

Archie feels a strong hand clasped on his shoulder. It’s Reggie.

“Dude. Why were you talking to that weirdo, Jughead Jones?”

He looks at his friend and shrugs, letting another moment pass before sharing the news about getting the spot in question for Princeton. Who the hell is even called _Jughead_?

Betty crosses the street to the next block, watching as Andre picks Veronica up out front in the familiar town car. She hails a cab and throws on her sunglasses, sliding into the back seat and telling the driver to follow the black car stopped at the light.

“I thought this shit only went down in movies,” the taxi driver comments, but does as he’s told.

Betty bites on her lip. The rumors and whisperings of Veronica’s return have been plaguing her thoughts ever since she tried to explain herself yesterday. _Alright_ , so she left because of her one-night stand with Archie, but _why_ did she return? She spent so much time away, so why _now_? For _what_?

Betty has imagined various scenarios ranging to the most extreme of Archie and Veronica engaging in an illicit affair behind her back.

Her mother and Cheryl have been blunt about their thoughts, saying she’s most likely back for the worst, harboring some secret and Betty couldn’t take it anymore. Every time she has an inkling like this, her detective instincts take over and she finds herself slipping into the rabbit hole. That’s how she found out Polly wasn’t at Brown.

A few intersections and one avenue later, Betty has her phone ready just in case anything changes. Andre’s car pulls up on a semi-deserted block off Park, where Veronica steps out of the back. There’s a line of trees blocking the entrance, but Betty pulls up Google Maps to pinpoint their location.

_The Phoenix Center, Drug and Rehabilitation Clinic._

She quickly opens the camera app on her phone to ensure proof of what she’s seeing. It feels like a bomb has just landed in her lap. A sense of power comes over her, thinking of the million different endings for whatever she decides to do with this delicate information.

_Rehab? Serves her right._

She smiles. All that matters is that Veronica will not get away with this, and she will no longer set the world ablaze without consequence.

Satisfied with the ten shots she’s able to take, Betty navigates to her keypad and dials one the favorited contacts. “Cheryl. You’re never going to believe what I just witnessed.”

Veronica walks through the school’s courtyard, arriving early to make the right impression. Hermione gave her a nod of approval in her outfit choice: a Chanel tweed blazer and her favorite black boots. She’s wearing the pearls her father bought her, just before he left, the ones he said would look _perfect_ on her at Harvard.

The reception went well last night. She spoke mostly to Kevin but was fortunate to escape any cruel treatment before it was over. It was a surprise to find out she was in fact assigned a task, _flower arrangements._ Veronica loves flowers, and she was half-expecting to be taking out the trash if anything, with the way Cheryl treated her on Thursday.

Maybe Betty intervened despite it all. The thought itself blossoms into hope, pulling on the strings of her own heart. Or, most likely, she did still have some admirers or a minion who might feel sorry given her current position.

The Harvard rep arrives with his usher, Bret Weston Wallis, another boy she doesn't really know in Stonewall’s junior class. Veronica checked her lipstick in the mirror a few minutes prior and she turned on her most charming self, ready to _wow_ them and secure her future.

She approaches the rep and shoots the usher a look, as if saying she’s _got it from here._ The woman extends a handshake to Veronica, one she takes happily before diving into a discussion about all things Harvard.

The talk goes by easily. Mrs. Phillips seems quite impressed with Veronica’s thoughts on her published work and on the Harvard experience. But just as they complete twenty minutes of conversation, she spots Cheryl, gripping on to the Yale rep. She looks so smug and finds time to throw Veronica a dirty look, giving her an idea of pushing back against that redheaded bully.

“Harvard is my dream, but I’ve been keeping my options open,” she tells Mrs. Phillips as she eyes her opportunity. Her mom is distracted, talking to some other parent that could make use of a razor, so Veronica doesn't think twice. The last thing on her mind is her father’s wrath if she blows this with Mrs. Phillips. Her sole focus suddenly is spoiling Cheryl’s day. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

With that, Veronica heads for the girl on her mind and gets right between her and the death grip she’s got on Mr. Chipping.

She extends an arm, forcing him to drop from Cheryl’s hold, and offers a brilliant smile. “Rupert Chipping, hi! I’m Veronica Lodge. As in _Lodge Industries_? Big fan of your work.”

Mr. Chipping’s eyes grow a little bigger. “Hiram Lodge’s daughter, no doubt. Of course, your father is a man of legend.”

It feels satisfying to feel the piercing daggers of Cheryl’s eyes on her, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “I know. He’s such a proud Harvardian, but you know, I’ve always been a little rebellious,” she winks. It’s definitely not very appropriate, but he does laugh and blush.

“A little too much, maybe,” Cheryl murmurs, a fake smile on her lips that she can’t wipe off right now.

“Not enough that I’m not the first in our history class,” Veronica smiles in triumph, wrapping her arm around Cheryl’s waist. She feels her body freeze. “Cheryl’s really good, too. She’s second.”

This is true, so the redhead finds nothing to throw back at her. Cheryl had a perfect GPA, but so did Veronica. And the teachers at Spence liked _her_ much more — possibly related to the amount of donations Lodge Industries had given to the school board, but who cares, as long as you’re winning.

Mr. Chipping seems — at the very least — very charmed by this interaction. _Men_.

“Would you major in history, Miss Lodge?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked. Why don’t I get you a drink while you tell me about the Yale history program?” Veronica lets Cheryl go, and unceremoniously hooks her arm around Mr. Chipping. Just like Cheryl did the other day at field hockey, Veronica looks at her over her shoulder, kinking one sharp eyebrow.

_Never cross a Lodge._

He tries to pay attention as Mr. Garcia drones on about his book, something Archie knows nothing about even after skimming its description on Wikipedia before getting somehow sucked into a rabbit hole about the true influence of steampunk.

Eyeing the Dartmouth rep’s drink, he uses an old party trick to get out of this stuffy situation. “Care for a refill, sir?” He extends his free hand and asks politely.

Mr. Garcia smiles gratefully and hands Archie his drink. “Why, thank you.”

Archie holds both tumblers and books it to the bar, spotting _Jughead_ standing behind it with a loosened tie. He is still wearing his beanie, working the refreshments and looking downright miserable.

Archie feels bad for a second, even though he _knows_ that the guy is a bit of a douche. But well — if he looks around, who isn’t?

“Hey.” He offers cautiously.

Jughead just nods in greeting, filling punch cups for nobody in particular. “How’s it going over there?” He asks over his shoulder.

“He’s a Redsox fan.” Archie lets out a chuckle that catches his attention. “That was the highest point of our conversation. Oh, apart from when he didn’t accuse me for getting the spot just because I’m Mary Andrews’s son.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I was frustrated.” Jughead sighs deeply. “Just say that you noticed the influence of Sydney Mintz on chapter eight, when he talks about food and gender during the first war, and you’ll be fine.”

Archie raises both his eyebrows. It seems _really_ unfair that Jughead studied all about the book and that, for some reason, he won’t get to talk to Mr. Garcia. Archie’s mom always said that his big heart would be the death of him, but he thinks his dad would approve of his idea.

“Listen, Jones,” he says. The boy’s usual glare is replaced by a raised eyebrow and leans over the counter, prompting Archie to keep speaking. “Why don’t I take over for a few minutes while you deliver his neat scotch back to him yourself. Call it a ten-minute break.”

It makes Archie feel good, for the first time in a long time, to see the smile that fights to break out across the boy’s face.

Jughead claps a hand to Archie’s shoulder in thanks.

“Hey!” Archie shouts behind him. He motions for Jughead to fix his tie and looks up at the knit beanie on his head. “Dude. Lose the hat. It’s lame.”

He tucks it in his back pocket and adjusts his semi-wrinkled tie before picking up the glass again and making his way over to where Matt Garcia stands by the fountain.

Archie takes a few seconds to look around the space, familiarizing himself with the refreshment stand in case he really does have to make any drinks during his temporary shift.

“Archie?” He recognizes a voice like velvet coming from behind, one that gets his heart beating so fast.

He turns around and meets a bemused Veronica standing at the counter. “Hey,” he says instead of asking her all the things that have been on his mind, instead of apologizing for everything that’s happened.

“Hey,” she says back. He hates to acknowledge it, but she looks so beautiful, wearing her pearls like old times. He knows she’s always waited for the Ivy Mixer.

Archie can’t find anything else to say, feeling his cheeks burn as he stands there behind the bar.

Veronica tucks a shiny lock of hair behind her ear and smiles a little. “Can I get two glasses of punch, please?”

“Oh! Yeah!” He says a little rushed, moving to retrieve the cups and praying he doesn’t spill the red contents all over the place.

“Just don’t spike them.” She teases. It makes him laugh, feeling his blush rise to the tips of his ears. They used to joke about things all the time. The coy smile on her lips and the silence that dawdles is just another reminder of how much things have changed.

He sets the first filled cup on the granite, seeing something shift in her face.

“Hey?” He asks this time. “You ok?”

She looks up at him and it looks like she doesn’t know if she’ll answer that simple question, but then she nods. “Yeah. You?” Her shy smile is suppressed by the way she starts biting her lip.

“Yeah.” He answers her. He wonders if she’s lying because God knows _he_ is.

She smiles again, taking the drinks. Archie feels the warmth of her skin against his, the way her soft fingers graze over his. Their gaze locks for a long second. He’s overwhelmed by the depth of her eyes.

“Thanks, Archie.”

There’s a line starting to build and he’s grateful for it. He doesn’t want to linger on Veronica walking away for too long.

It turns out Archie is pretty good at serving drinks — which is if anything, a sign. Jughead seems to be engaged in the funniest conversation ever with Mr. Garcia. He sees Reggie, probably sharing a story from watching his brother play in a Princeton-Cornell match a few years back. Veronica is, for some reason, latched onto the Yale rep’s side, as Cheryl talks to the one from Harvard. He can see Betty too, making rounds with the staff to make sure everything is going well. They haven’t really spoken for the past five days and it’s kind of a relief because it’s one less thing he needs to worry about.

“Hi, baby,” his mother approaches the bar. She already has a glass of champagne in hand, so Archie doesn’t think she wants anything. “Nice to see you helping out, but shouldn’t you be ushering the rep?”

Archie shrugs. “I stepped out so a classmate could take over for a while,” he says. “Everyone deserves a chance.”

“Oh Archie,” Mary says in a sweet tune, reaching out to touch his face. Archie’s first reaction is to pull his face away from her, but he knows she doesn’t like it when he does that. _Oh, Archie_ is always the prequel for something he _knows_ will end up annoying him. “You’re a great kid. But this isn’t like your soccer team. You can’t give your spot away so easily, not when you’ve worked hard to get it.”

Archie makes a face. It’s a weird comment, and he’s not sure how hard she thinks he worked. Somehow, Jughead’s words from earlier in the week, _isn’t Mary Andrews the Headmaster’s attorney_ , come back to his mind. “Mom. You didn’t… _do_ anything about this, did you?”

“What do you mean?” She lets him go, sipping from her glass.

“Did you talk to Weatherbee about me getting this usher position?” He asks, quite serious. His mother does that thing she did her entire life whenever she was lying — her expression is _unique_ , eyelashes fluttering, something _he_ inherited himself. One would think she’d be a good liar since she’s a lawyer, but she’s as terrible as he is.

Archie shakes his head, clenching his jaw, already knowing the answer. Mary places her hand on his wrist. “I _did_ speak with Headmaster Weatherbee before your interview, but he’s _my client_. It had nothing to do with—”

“I can’t believe this,” Archie feels a bitter taste in his mouth. Jughead was _right_. He didn’t _deserve_ this, it was bought for him, handed out like everything else in his life.

“Archie, what would you want me to do?” His mom asks when Archie starts to walk away from the bar. “You don’t have any _ambition_. You’re exactly like your father, just _waiting_ for things to happen. I couldn’t just—”

"I don't wanna go to Dartmouth, mom!” Archie blurts out, a little louder than he should. People around them stare and start to whisper. Mary looks taken aback. “I don’t wanna be a lawyer. I don’t even know if I want to go to college. There, I said it. If that makes me like my dad, then I’m proud of it."

He doesn’t look for Jughead when he leaves, just needing to get out of this party altogether.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” his voice is packed with anger.

“Archie. C’mon, I’m sorry,” Mary tries. Archie is unsure if she means she’s sorry for pushing him, lying to him, or for what she just said about his father.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _golden boy finally growing some golden balls. we thought we'd be waiting forever before they dropped._

* * *

One thing is true: things were getting dull without Veronica in New York.

Cheryl doesn’t particularly _want_ to enjoy their quarrels and she’s not joyful with the perspective of Veronica — _maybe, perhaps_ — wanting to take away everything she worked so hard to obtain, but she does have to admit that these past couple of weeks have been far more interesting than sophomore year in its entirety.

There was something between them that Betty couldn’t understand. When Cheryl met Betty and Veronica they were already a matching set, light and dark, B&V, but as soon as Cheryl locked eyes with Veronica from across the room in their freshman year, they both _understood_ that they’d forever be another kind of matching set, something that _girls-next-door_ with perfect families just couldn’t get.

Veronica was always teetering on the edge of her next bad habit. It had been booze, clubs, drugs, Reggie and, most recently, Archie. Cheryl always thought that was chaotic, _interesting_. And, different from all the people glad to bow their heads and lay down their weapons, Veronica’s chin was always up. Her knives, like the heels of her stilettos, were always sharpened.

They had silently said _game on_ earlier in the week and Cheryl expected Veronica’s move to happen during the mixer. She did _not_ expect it to be charming Mr. Chipping. Naturally, giving Harvard’s Mrs. Phillips the time of her life was the only possible way of striking back.

There was just _one_ , one big difference between them, and there lied her victory: Veronica’s parents _cared_.

Want it or not, Cheryl’s didn’t give a fuck.

This is why, when Cheryl is interrupted from her conversation with Mrs. Phillips as Headmistress Honey flicks her wine glass to garner everyone’s attention and makes an announcement, she smiles. Betty has enough information to twist this game around — she is angry and stupid, so she’d definitely use it.

_This should be fun._

“And now, I’d like to introduce Spence’s own, Elizabeth Cooper, to present the local organization selected for this year’s spotlight by the junior class.”

Betty walks up to the staged podium and Cheryl recognizes the look in her eye, the one that means trouble. Her voice, however, sounds very sweet when she starts talking. Cheryl feels a weird sense of pride for how well Betty was groomed.

“Thank you, Headmistress Honey. This year, the local foundation we’ve chosen to feature is the Phoenix Center. The rehabilitation facility holds a personal connection to one of our own.”

Her eyes scan the crowd for Veronica, watching everyone clap over hushed voices. Hermione Lodge is at her daughter’s side right away, wrapping her fingers firmly around Veronica’s arm.

Cheryl notices the way Hermione is whispering fiercely and the slight panic in Veronica’s eyes.

“So please,” Betty goes on, “join me in recognizing this life-saving institution and a round of applause for my currently sober classmate, Veronica Lodge.”

Veronica sets down the glass in her hand on a nearby table and walks with her head held high to where Betty stands at the front.

Only someone who knows them as well as Cheryl does would notice the tense look exchanged between the former besties.

The raven-haired girl takes over the mic, clutching her pearls as Betty walks to stand next to Cheryl. The thrill of it all makes Cheryl smirk, watching her up there put on the spot.

“Thank you, Betty,” Veronica says with a clap of her hands. She focuses her sights back on the crowd and Cheryl notices the way she fidgets with her bracelet now, something she used to do on the rare occasion she felt nervous.

“It’s been a hard journey over the last year but one thing I’ve learned at the center is the power of forgiveness,” she says with eyes boring into both of them. “It’s the key ingredient for moving on, when all acts of contrition have been executed. I know it’s not easy to own up to our faults and mistakes, but if we don’t, what good are we aiming to achieve? So, in the spirit of looking to the future, let’s celebrate the real reason we’re here— to celebrate the potential of ours.”

Everyone offers their applause, as Veronica abandons the podium. Dr. Phoenix takes over and starts his own speech, thanking _Elizabeth Cooper and her lovely friend_.

Cheryl watches, curious, as Veronica walks briskly out of the mixer with her head _down_. Hermione Lodge follows, hot on her heels. She looks down at her phone, expecting the blast any moment now when a throat clears in front of them. She recognizes the Polo-wearing prepster from the pictures with Veronica, Kevin Something, or other.

“You know, Veronica has only been going to the center to support her mother. She's the one in treatment. How could you guys stoop so low?”

“Her mom is in treatment?” Betty asks, her voice suddenly small. Cheryl presses her lips together, something _weird_ twisting inside her.

“Yes,” Kevin spats. “She almost _died_. This is why Veronica’s back, not to be in a catfight with you.”

Betty’s face gets pinker under her blush. “I— I didn’t…”

“See that coming? Must be a shock for those who think they know everything.” He shakes his head and moves in the direction Veronica was heading when she left.

Betty’s green eyes meet Cheryl’s.

* * *

_honesty may be the best policy in some zip-codes, but not in this one, and definitely not during **#ivyweek**. “i was a 16-year-old drug addict” is not exactly a praised college essay. it seems like **#cherylblossom** and **#bettycooper** have another piece of precious information to win this war. will they use it as ammunition, or will they put down their arms?_

* * *

Veronica enters their suite at the Five Seasons, defeated and drained, after what felt like the longest car ride ever. Hermione was rapidly shooting off all the reasons why that was _the worst thing she could have done_ , jeopardizing her future like that. Then the questions became persistent as to why Betty would know such a thing.

She steps out of her heels in the foyer, terrified to think what will happen when her father catches wind of all this.

The unshed tears are stinging her eyes, red-rimmed and hidden behind her sunglasses.

She wishes she could lay her head in her mother’s lap while Hermione would run her fingers through her hair and tell her everything would be ok. Just like she did to soothe Veronica when she was a child.

But she’s not sure things will ever be ok. What Betty did today nearly destroy her mother’s reputation and that’s where she draws the line. She would happily do it all over again to protect Hermione but is hurt as to why it had to happen in the first place.

Veronica unclasps her pearls and lays them inside the velvet-lined jewelry box, in the smaller compartment that holds some of her most beloved pieces. The familiar silver ring cracks her heart right open, tears starting to fall at the memory of Betty giving it to her some years ago. She watched excitedly as Veronica opened it, declaring she’d known from the start that they were _meant to be best friends._

She plucks it from its place and lets out a watery laugh, only able to slide the ring all the way up her pinky now. Veronica sits down at her desk and takes a look at the heart.

This has to end.

If Betty won’t listen to what she has to say, then perhaps she’ll read it. She always appreciated written words.

Veronica’s got enough energy on reserve left for one last peace offering, so she pulls out a blank piece of stationery and uncaps her pen.

Betty lays across her bed, trying to write in her diary. Her vision is a little bleary and she gives up when her pen pierces into the paper, her mind too focused on the last few hours.

So, Veronica came back for her mother. Who, apparently, almost died? And Betty only knows that because _Kevin Keller_ told her.

She’s no stranger to betrayal. Her parents locked her sister away in a mental facility and lied to Betty about it, going as far as _faking_ emails where Polly would say everything was okay at Brown. She remembers being taken by Alice to doctors and being tested without understanding much, remembers the day her mom and dad sat down with her and shoved a bottle of lithium in her hand. Remembers that this flared up her instincts on how something was _off._ Remembers snooping in her mom’s office until finding Polly’s case file.

 _Why didn’t you tell me?_ Betty asked her parents, then. In the end, not knowing was worse than anything else.

That’s probably what hurts more about Veronica. Somehow, it’s not only about _Archie_.

There’s a light knock on her door, forcing her to sit upright and dab under her eyes with her sleeve. “Come in,” she says.

Hal Cooper pops his head in, opening the door fully and stepping inside. He walks a little closer and takes a seat on the edge of her bed, looking at her with sympathetic eyes.

“Veronica stopped by earlier and left this for you,” he starts, holding out the familiar embossed envelope. “She asked that I made sure you got it. I didn’t tell your mother.”

Betty looks at it for a moment, the risen _VL_ on the cardstock making her feel nostalgic, remembering when Veronica would send her letters for no reason at all. She kept them all in a box in her dresser, along with other memorabilia. 

She takes it from her dad with a small smile, watching him nod and exit her bedroom.

_Dear Betty,_

_I don't know how to start this letter._ _I don't know how to be your friend after what I did._

_So, I ran away. When I was in Hanover, I ran too. I ran one thousand, two hundred and forty-three miles. I ran every day. In the woods, in the park, all over the school campus. I read somewhere that I needed to run so I could clear my head and tried to. Every step I took was the same question: why did I do this to you? **How** could I do this to you?_

_I've always known you and Archie were something special. I've always known you were meant to be together._

_But I was in love with him._

_It is not his fault; it’s mine. He never did anything, but that’s what bloomed in my heart. I had never been in love before. I didn't know if I was feeling what I was supposed to feel. For the past couple of years, my heart ached. For him. For you. I knew I could never have you both at the same time - it would be either us or **us**. But the thing is, it wasn't really a choice. He was always yours. You were always his. I was just another bump in your road._

_But I was in love with him._

_I know it's probably even worse to know this. But what happened wasn't premeditated. I kept this feeling inside for the longest time and all of a sudden, I couldn't anymore._

_I betrayed you. I have no excuse. When I realized what happened, when I realized how badly I fucked up, I didn't know what to do. Suddenly, I understood that this feeling shouldn't have grown so big that it overcame **you and me**. B&V._

_I feel sick that I let it happen. It shouldn’t have happened. I never meant to hurt you._

_B, we made so many promises to each other. I remember every single one of them. Best friends, forever. Sisters, forever. You and I, forever. No boy. No crown. No blast. Nothing between us. You want one, you take us both. Do you remember them?_

_I know maybe it's too late to ask for forgiveness. But it's what I'm asking for. And I will wait for the day you’re ready to give it to me._

_Love,_

_Veronica_

Betty reads it one more time before dropping the letter onto her lap and drying her eyes again. She sniffles as she starts tapping away on her phone’s home screen, dialing the number by heart and waiting for the voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

She breathes out in relief.

“Hey. Can you please come over?”

Betty goes downstairs step by step, trying not to get any attention from her parents who are watching the news in the living room. Coming back from the mixer, Alice gave an entire speech about _oh, of course, I always expected Veronica to end up in rehab_ , which made her nauseous. Betty would rather avoid another lecture, so she treads silently to the front door.

The fresh air greets her with some clarity.

Archie has his hands in his pockets. He’s no longer wearing the suit & tie from the mixer, but a soft green sweatshirt. He doesn’t look all that happy, but he offers her a smile anyway like he often did.

“Hey,” she says softly, patting the spot next to her on the steps, gesturing for Archie to join her.

“Hi,” he sits by her side, the scar between his eyebrows more prominent as he furrows them. Betty is kind of surprised that he agreed to come over so easily, especially after all the distance between them the past couple of weeks.

“In the end, you were right,” Betty laughs humorlessly, looking down at her Keds. “I was acting like Polly.”

“Betty—” He blows out a tired breath. “I was really angry when I said that.”

“I know you were. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She shakes her head, a little disappointed with herself. Her throat aches when she swallows. “Today, I outed Veronica for a drug problem she doesn’t have in front of everyone.”

His forehead scrunches up, processing her words. “What?”

It’s sweet that he still doesn’t read the Blue and Gold, that he wants nothing to do with this crazy life. It’s one of the reasons why she always thought Archie would be perfect for her, _if._

Her cheeks feel warm. “I almost fucked everything up for her. I am _so angry_ at her,” Betty’s eyes prickle. “And then I realized I’m not angry at you. Not at all,” she confesses, wiping away tears that start to fall. She can’t really look at Archie right now. “This made me ask myself: what are we even doing?”

Archie’s voice is soft and full of remorse when he speaks, after a few moments. “Betty. She— she hurt you too. I understand that—”

“No, Arch,” she gives her head a minute shake and finally looks over at him. “You and me. What are we holding on to?”

Something changes in his face. It’s that shift, from regretful to something really open, _somber_ , that answers Betty’s question more than anything else. She takes a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms only for a brief second, only for the reassurance that brings her, but tries her best not to tighten the fists.

She manages to shove her hands beneath her knees. Archie can’t seem to find one word to say, but she has many on her mind.

“You’ve been here for as long as I can remember,” she starts despite the ache in her chest. “When we were kids, I was really sure about you. About _us_. You were always the place I felt safest,” she explains.

Archie looks at her intently. He seems to allow her words to sink in before nodding. “But that’s not the case anymore, is it?” He asks, even though he knows the answer to that question.

“No, it isn’t. We don’t love each other, Arch.”

Archie frowns, just a little bit. “We do.”

Betty nods, reformulating her words. “Yes. But we’re not _in love_ with each other.”

 _Not the way Veronica was in love with you_ , she wants to say, the words from Veronica’s letter fresh in her mind. _Not the way you were in love with her._

He lowers his eyes before looking up again. His lips are slightly curled downwards. Betty knows he’d be lying if he tried to state otherwise, and she’s glad he doesn’t try.

Gently, she reaches out to touch his hand. “I think I realize now that this has nothing to do with what happened between you and Veronica. This only has to do with you and me.”

Archie wets his lips briefly. He flips his palm and holds her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Betty moves closer, laying her head on his shoulder. He turns his head, planting a kiss on her hair. She closes her eyes and allows more silent tears to fall until they don’t anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Archie whispers, even though he doesn’t have to.

“Me too,” she says, drying her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

They give each other a long moment to say goodbye, sitting in silence on her porch with their hands linked together.

* * *

_well, upper east siders **#ivyweek** has finally reached its end and we do have a winning essay about it after all: your future is not always set in stone. there's always room to move forward. sometimes, that means taking responsibility for the things you’ve done. sometimes, that means being brave enough to accept new challenges and embrace new changes..._

* * *

Archie hauls his duffel bag down the stairwell, slinging it over his free shoulder, since his backpack strap is occupying the other, and walks out the street side exit used mostly by the building’s staff.

It feels liberating to do the unexpected, ironically feeling the air become less thick as he gets closer to the subway. Luckily, he was able to get to the apartment and pack a bag before his mom made it home from some last-minute meeting post-mixer, so he left a note and grabbed a bottle of water for the trip to Brooklyn.

Ending his relationship with Betty was _weird_. He feels something that lies right in between emptiness and reprieve. Like he’d been carrying something really heavy that now it’s gone, its absence is still felt on his shoulders.

Archie makes his way to the 86th Street station and moves off his path to let a woman pushing a large cart of groceries pass along on the sidewalk. He crosses the street and follows the stairs descending into the tunnel.

Once he swipes his MetroCard at the gate and moves through to the other side, he’s surprised by the feel of a hand on his back.

”Well, who's following who now?” Jughead Jones offers a crooked smile, sipping from a steaming coffee cup from his place on the platform.

Archie can’t help but laugh, breaking into a smile at the familiar face.

“What are you still doing up here?”

Jughead’s eyebrows move inward at the question.

“You mean what am I still doing on the Upper East Side when I live across the bridge?” He asks.

Archie feels his cheeks burning. Before he can speak, Jughead interrupts him.

“Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He snickers. “I work part-time at The Blend on Madison. What are you doing hopping on the subway downtown?”

His blue eyes look skeptically over Archie’s bags, shuffling into the car and securing a spot in the corner.

“I’m going to spend some time at my dad’s place,” he explains, leaving out everything else that prompted this decision. “I kinda need to get away from here for a while.”

“Your dad lives downtown?”

Archie chuckles. He always felt a bit different from his friends because of that — like there was something _else_ about him just because he went to a public preschool when he was five. Truth is, to Jughead, he’s no doubt just another rich kid. “I was actually born in Brooklyn.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. Archie notices they travel towards his hairline and not his beanie. “A true downtown boy, huh? What’s your take on the best place for burgers across the bridge?”

It’s strange how Archie feels a sense of brotherhood with this random boy after they started off with the wrong foot. It seems they may have more in common than he thought. “Well, I admit it’s been a while, so I’ll allow you to _downtownsplain_ the burgers to me.”

Jughead laughs and adjusts the headphones around his neck. “I ain’t treating.”

* * *

_...but sometimes, looking to the future means reconnecting with your past and with your heart. are those two white flags we see waving at the five seasons?_

* * *

There’s a knock on the front door a few hours after dinner, soft but concise. Hermione retreated early to take a bath before bed and Veronica attempted some light reading by the fireplace.

She pulls her robe a little tighter and slides on her slippers to see who’s visiting them on a Saturday night.

The biggest surprise awaits her, standing with a shy smile and bright green eyes, in the form of Betty Cooper.

“V,” she sighs, clasping her hands in front of her.

Veronica feels the tears start to gather behind her eyes, when her gaze falls to her friend’s hands, toying nervously with the delicate gold ring on her smallest finger.

Her vision gets blurry, letting out a watery laugh when she twirls her own ring, sitting tightly on her own pinky finger.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Beronica be back on track? What will happen to Varchie, now that Barchie are done? Will Betty find another love? Are Veronica and Cheryl going to stop fighting? What will Reggie think about his ~~boyfriend's~~ best friend's new friend?
> 
> Always a great time writing this fic and getting your subject. It's literally keeping us sane. Keep it coming and write to us @andsmile and @monicaposh on Tumblr!
> 
> Songlist!
> 
>   * Feist - I Feel it All (at the beginning)
>   * Dashboard Confessional - Where There’s Gold (Archie in the subway)
>   * New Order - Blue Monday (Archie is listening to it too)
>   * will.i.am - I Got it From my Mama (Cheronica scenes)
>   * Death Cab For Cutie - The Ice is Getting Thinner (Barchie break-up; this song is BEAUTIFUL and sad and listen to it)
>   * Washington Social Club - Diamond Hipster Boy (Jarchie at the end)
>   * The Bravery - Time Won’t Let Me Go (Beronica flashback / end scene)
> 



	4. #truthortruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, Upper East Siders! Three weeks into this isolation mess already, huh? But we are here to hopefully make your Saturday a little happier. We're crazy happy with this chapter that provides a little bit to every shipper out there, I guess, and introducing some new POVs too.
> 
> Again reminding you about the **multi-character, multi-ship** nature of this fic, and also about the focus on families, friendships and character development! Thank you, excited to know what you think! 💋

**— oh, when you took my heart,  
that's when we fell apart _—_**

**__ **

_Eleven days into July and Archie already learned that every night would be eventful this summer._

_It was… different, hanging out with Cheryl, Reggie, and Veronica in the Hamptons. They looked like a weird family, alternating heads of black and red hair under the scalding sun. More than once someone would ask if he and Cheryl were siblings, to which she’d often scoff and move away from him. It never happened to Reggie and Veronica because he was always shoving his tongue in her mouth at some point, even though they swore they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend._

_Archie just turned sixteen but he had a girlfriend for half a decade already. He never spent so much time away from Betty. It was just another dynamic when she wasn’t around. As soon as she said goodbye at JFK, latching her arms around both Archie and Veronica at the same time, and passed through security headed to California for her internship, he instantly became the most responsible person in his group of friends._

_It was a position he had never been in before. He couldn’t even take care of his Neopets when he was a kid._

_The combined forces of Cheryl, Reggie, and Veronica, was a recipe for destruction. They couldn’t stand still. They were gorgeous and popular, which granted them all kinds of invitations for all kinds of celebrations, and they’d never turned them down. They would always come home a little drunk during the early hours of the morning before crashing. Their day never started before noon, with the sun already high in the sky, and someone mentioning how the best cure for a hangover was the cause._

_Archie didn’t really do drugs, so sometimes he lacked the energy. Cheryl didn’t do them either, not often, but she was fueled by her desire for being around people. She hated quiet time._

_Reggie and Veronica were as chaotic as ever, always longing to be distracted by something. Reggie would wake up later than all of them and go for long runs on the beach to “sweat it out”, coming back even more energized._

_The only person who seemed to enjoy the silence every once in a while was Ronnie_ _— he’d often catch her curled up in some chair by the pool with her face covered with big sunglasses, skin getting darker as she flipped a page from the novel she was reading for the summer book club._

_He liked going out with them but often didn’t follow. Betty was actually working, so she couldn’t talk during the day, and with the time difference, they’d always video chat in the evening. Sometimes, Ronnie would be doing her makeup and invade his room to say hello to Betty. She’d bend over next to him and he’d see sparkles all over her exposed arms, breathe her scent in through his nostrils, feel his earlobes heating up._

_Veronica would always, inevitably, bat her eyelashes at him, full of dark eyeshadow, and ask him “Please, come with us,” every night._

_There were perks of being strong, not caving in, and not going. One, he had more time to talk to his girlfriend. He was excited for her and the internship, to hear what she had to say, although sometimes he felt like he didn’t have much to say to her. Two, he wasn’t forced to watch Reggie and Veronica making out in some corner of a club while he and Cheryl sulked by the bar until she found some girl who caught her eye and forgot about his existence completely. Three, he actually woke up at a reasonable hour, not feeling like shit, and Reggie’s house was bright, white, and silent._

_Those were some of his favorite moments. He could get his guitar and his notebook, and try to turn whatever was in his head into music. Just like he was now, sitting alone in the living room, experimenting with some chords._

_He felt a bit embarrassed about this hobby for some reason that he couldn’t pinpoint. He couldn’t stop picturing his mom’s face when he thought that strumming his guitar was the thing he loved the most in life. More than soccer. More than Betty. More than…_

_“Archiekins?”_

_The melodic tone of her voice halted his strumming immediately, looking in her direction completely dumbfounded._

_“Uh_ _— Ronnie.” He didn’t expect her to be awake at this hour. He didn’t expect any of them to be awake at this hour. “What are you doing up so early?”_

_By routine, he would scramble to pack his guitar away but he couldn’t process his next move when Veronica stood before him. He only had time to hide his notebook, hoping to go unnoticed as she yawned._

_“I enjoyed a night off, watching Roman Holiday and a full dose of beauty sleep.” She settled on the couch, across from him, and started retelling him about the previous day. He vaguely remembers the debate about whether or not she’d wear the red or black dress, what seemed to piss Cheryl off for some reason and made Veronica stay behind._

_It was hard to focus on what she had to say after that. The morning sun that filtered in through the skylights made her black hair look even shinier and the natural light that poured in from the open doors made her skin look even more like gold. He couldn’t help the way his eyes were roaming over the outline of her curves and the blue satin that clung to them. Her shorts were really… short. It didn’t help that she was sitting with her legs propped up on the pillow._

_“Archie?” She asked, bringing him back from his wandering mind. “I asked if you’re taking requests. I love being serenaded in the morning.”_

_Jesus Christ._

_“I_ _—“ he started trying to find a way to explain why he was singing but started chuckling when her smile grew wider while looking expectantly for his answer. He shook off any other thoughts. “Ok. Do you promise not to laugh?”_

_He sounded a little vulnerable, he knew. But Veronica smiled sweetly at the request, and he was certain that she would never._

_“And you can’t tell anyone_ _— Reggie or Cheryl, not even Betty.” He insisted._

_“Of course not, Archiekins. You have my word.” He believed her. She’d always said that meant more than money to a Lodge. “Though now, consider me very intrigued.”_

_Archie reached around to scratch the back of his neck with one hand, while sheepishly retrieving his notebook from under the couch cushion. He watched as her eyes inspected the book he held before looking up into his._

_“Lyrics?” She asked excitedly._

_“Not exactly, not yet anyway,” he answered honestly. “Just trying out some words, I guess.”_

_“These mended bones, the storms approach ever so slowly, out on the sea,” Veronica recited one of his latest drafts, full of stroke words. She used the same clear voice she’d often use when giving speeches for Spence. Archie felt his face burning. “There’s an animal inside me, lack of control. Others came before me, others to come. And then my thoughts drift to you.” She stopped, raising both her eyebrows. “Archie. This is pure poetry.”_

_He scratched the back of his head. “It’s_ _— I don’t know. I have a lot in my head, sometimes,” he said. She turned another page as her eyes swept over it. He felt his leg start to bounce, nervous, wondering what she’d interpret of the words before her. “It’s hard to write the music and the lyrics together.”_

_“Do you have anything ready?” She looked up with big, bedroom eyes. They looked kinda like bourbon with all the light coming in. Archie felt something in his throat._

_“Not really. I managed a chorus and some chords,” he explained, and the face she made right after, lips slightly curled up, told him what she’d ask next. “C’mon, no.”_

_“Please.” She smiled. “Please, Archiekins. For me?”_

_Archie sighed. He had absolutely no chance to win this one. “Just because you baked me a cake for my birthday,” he said, pressing his lips together. He was glad for being a little sunburnt because it probably hid his red cheeks. Veronica clapped, excited, and he bit his lip before taking his guitar and starting to play the only song he had both the melody and the lyrics, too._

_Once he started, it became easier. The music flowed through his fingers, quieting his head completely. “...gold in the air of summer,” he sang softly, not really confident with his voice as he was with the guitar. He felt dumb because his lyrics just repeated the same phrase. He should’ve given it more substance. Improvising, he added more to the tune, making the chords more complex. “You’ll shine like gold in the air of summer… You’ll shine like gold in the air of summer…”_

_He glanced over at Veronica. She looked soft. Not too many edges._

_Maybe no edges at all._

* * *

_good morning, upper east siders. it’s still wednesday, but we hope you’re ready for the eventful weekend ahead. **spotted: #cherylblossom** devoting her time to the most important night on the fall social calendar: the sleepover at thornhill. reputations are made as quickly as they come apart, and the budget is unlimited. _

_everyone in the neighborhood is excited for it. well, unless of course, you’re in brooklyn. we’re still wondering what prompted our golden boy to retreat across the bridge. perhaps his breakup with b? we hear there is a raven-haired beauty, but it’s not who you would’ve guessed._

_speaking of: we’re happy to report our favorite duo finally reunited after last week's battle. **#beronica** has been making up for lost time with mornings on the steps and afternoon macarons at ladurée. forget **#barchie** or **#varchie** , we’re stanning these two. _

* * *

Betty and Veronica have their arms linked, loose black waves and tight blonde ponytail, bouncing behind them as they walk. Watching the girls pass him by in the courtyard without even a glance, Archie feels a bit like an idiot. But it’s fair that they had chosen each other, he supposes. It’s fair that he lost (although he doesn’t know _what_ , exactly).

Jughead shows up out of nowhere, blocking his vision. “So, Weatherbee says that Garcia was quite impressed with my enthusiasm about food.” He sits on the stone table next to Archie. “But he also says I won’t be _Dartmouth material_ unless I get out of my comfort zone and apply for an extracurricular.”

Archie sighs. The girls are out of sight, now. He forces himself to take them off his mind, too. “Soccer season is about to be over. Maybe basketball? You’re kinda tall,” Archie suggests, pretending to measure both their heights.

“Contact sports aren’t really my thing.” He rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

“Well, what are you interested in? I mean besides prep-shaming and burgers,” Archie jokes.

Jughead gets a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of soda from his backpack. “I like to write. I’d actually like to finish a novel before college. I got a camera for my birthday last year and started dabbling a little in photography,” he says. “My best friend, the one I told you about, is attending a professional course.”

“Hm,” Archie ponders, mind going through all the extracurriculars he can think of. “Hey, what about the school’s paper?”

“Isn’t that your girlfriend’s thing?” Jughead asks, and then widens his eyes. “Shit. Sorry.”

It makes Archie laugh, shaking his head. “That’s okay. Ex-girlfriend, I guess.” He shrugs. It’s still a little weird to think about it, but he thinks it’s normal — it’s been only a few days since he _hasn’t been_ anyone’s boyfriend. The first few days in _years_. He has no idea what to do with all the time he has left, now. “She was always saying how she could use some help, though. Maybe you should consider it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says seriously, running a hand through his exposed hair. “And thanks again, for your help with Dartmouth.”

Archie smiles. He was happy to do it for Jughead, though his parents weren’t in full agreement of his actions.

“It’s no problem. It wasn’t for me anyway,” he says. “Though it does suck that my parents are on my case about my choices.”

Jughead looks at him thoughtfully with a tilt of his head, picking away at the half-eaten bagel sitting in tinfoil. “Well, what are your choices?”

Archie never thought that making a new friend would mean turning these thought-provoking questions into coherent answers, forcing him to not only think about his choices but really _make_ one. Mary hasn’t stopped reminding him how crucial this time in his life is for securing the next chapter and that realization has started to sink in.

He’s only ever been open about his dreams with Ronnie, but maybe it’s time to let someone else in. There’s something about Jughead that makes him feel safe, too. “I like playing the guitar.” Jughead nods with a mouthful of food, so Archie continues. “The last year I’ve been trying to make it into something more, writing lyrics and pairing them to my music. Maybe that’s something I see myself doing.”

His friend stops chewing, and after a swig of soda, opens his mouth to speak before they’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Yo, Andrews! You coming to soccer practice after school or are you too busy hanging out with the hipsters now?” He has a standard _Reggie_ smirk on his face but there’s something else Archie can’t pick up on.

“I’ll be there, Reg.” Before Archie can correct him and properly introduce Jughead, he’s already gone, moving inside and yelling to his classmates about something. Archie rolls his eyes, bringing his attention back to Jughead. The other boy’s expression shifts with a raised brow. “No one else knows, by the way.”

“Knows what?” He asks with a grin.

Archie laughs, shaking his head.

The last week has been exactly what Veronica hoped it would be, minus Hiram’s wrath after the _incident_ at the mixer.

She and Betty have been inseparable. As much as everything had changed, they fell right back into their old routines as if _nothing_ had changed.

After their tearful reunion in the Lodges’ suite, they spent as much time together as they could. On Sunday, they had brunch at Bergdorf's before getting lost in their favorite department store, buying matching outfits for no reason.

The first few days of school, they got back into the groove of walking to class and eating lunch together like old times. Veronica insisted on continuing her new morning tradition of getting coffee with Kevin (after all, he’d been there for her when no one else was), but invited Betty to come along a couple of times.

Kevin was a little apprehensive towards the rekindling but when Betty bought him an apology frappuccino, he decided to give her a chance. After all, _Betty_ was giving Veronica a second one.

She even broke up with Archie. As much as Veronica was curious about it, she decided not to ask questions — she’s seen Archie around a few times, with Reggie or some other kid she didn’t recognize, and made a huge effort not to stare too much. After all, she was thrilled to have her best friend back, willing to work towards better days and on being a new person. Nothing would jeopardize that.

On Wednesday, they pick up a carrier of their favorite sushi and decide it’s still nice enough outside to eat on the MET steps. Betty pokes at her salmon avocado roll and drapes it with ginger, giggling when it slides off her chopstick.

Veronica laughs too. She just missed this _so much_.

“So,” Betty starts, trying again. “I wrote a note in the Register, about the mess I made at the mixer. I said I mistook you for another person. The edition should be out tomorrow and on its way to Harvard right after. I would’ve sent it earlier, but doing everything alone…” She sighs.

Veronica sees the sincerity in her eyes, placing a hand on top of Betty’s knee. “I appreciate it, B. And it’s ok, I know you’ve got your hands full at the paper. Truthfully, I’m just glad to have something to pacify my father. He’s on his whole damage control M.O. right now.”

Betty looks a little regretful. “V,” she starts with a shake of her head.

Veronica holds up her palm, halting the conversation. “He’ll come around. I do have a question for you, though.” Betty’s face changes from remorseful to curious. “Why were you spending so much time with the usher from Columbia at the mixer?” It’s something she’s been wondering ever since, Betty’s lifelong dream was attending Brown.

The blonde opens her mouth to speak when Kevin joins them with a big smile. “Hey! Sorry, I’m late. Mr. Beaker asked me to stay after to help—” Kevin explains as he sits on Veronica’s free side and unbags his own lunch from home.

Betty offers her a small smile that means they’ll get back to the important stuff that’s remained unsaid.

“So,” Veronica starts with a look at her oldest and newest best friends. “I’m thinking we should take a trip to the West Village and start looking for masks. Remember that place with the costumes, B?”

Betty nods while chewing on a piece of edamame, offering the basket to Kevin.

“Yes, please! Count me in!” Kevin exclaims, plucking a steamed vegetable. “It’ll be my first time, but I have a whole Pinterest board for that!”

The Masquerade Ball coming next week is a traditional Halloween event hosted by The Union Club. It’s _supposed_ to be for college students only, but no one had ever said no to the trust-fund jailbaits in the Spence-Stonewall/Dalton-Greenwich/St. Bernard’s circle. Veronica went for the first time when she was only thirteen, and Betty followed her one year after.

They all nod in agreement, picking a day to go after school, a nearly impossible task with everything going on, when they’re joined by a familiar flurry of red.

“Hey there, Sad Breakfast Club.” Cheryl flicks her long hair over her shoulder and smiles down at them.

Veronica feels the corner of her lip curling up. Things have been better between them this week; at least, Cheryl has seemingly retracted her talons since the mixer and she’s toned down the dirty looks.

“Cheryl,” Veronica greets as nicely as she can manage. “Want to join us?”

The redhead purses her lips with the slight raise of her copper brow, “Thanks, but I have my own court to look over. Betty, we’ve missed you,” she says, voice dripping in artificial sweetness. “I _will_ see you on Friday, right?”

Veronica glances over at Betty, who seems a little taken aback. “Well, I haven’t—”

Cheryl sighs, in faux-disappointment. “I had a feeling you would hesitate,” she says, opening her red Chanel backpack and getting an envelope from inside. “Here, Veronica. I’m extending an invitation for you to join us for my iconic _soirée_ on Friday night. Consider it formal reparation for all the damage done last weekend.”

Veronica reaches out to take the invitation and looks at Betty and Kevin, one with a pleading gaze and the other looking at her with confused eyes.

“Sorry, Keller. Girls only. You _do_ understand, right?”

Kevin lifts his hands, as if saying _don’t worry about me_. Veronica presses her lips together. It’s _sweet_ that Cheryl is inviting her — her famous sleepover has happened twice a year, ever since they’ve met — but, at the same time, nothing is so _easy_ when it comes to the redheaded girl.

But Betty is _surely_ hoping to go, by the way she’s expectant. So, Veronica just smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it. Thanks, Cher.”

“Great, see you then. Don’t wear green, that’ll be my color,” she adjusts the leather strap of her backpack, and flips her hair again to leave. “Toodles!”

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _the first world war witnessed the treaty of versailles. we just witnessed the treaty of the met steps. wondering what game they’ll play at the soirée? our money’s on truce or consequences._

* * *

On Friday, Archie leaves soccer practice after a fresh shower, pulling his cell out of his back pocket to text Jughead. They agreed on meeting at The Blend and then heading downtown together.

“Andrews!” Reggie calls out from behind, jogging across the street to join him. “You wanna grab a slice?” They do this all the time after practice, grabbing pizza and taking it to Central Park while Archie watches Reggie catch a buzz. But tonight Archie thinks he’ll pass since Jughead mentioned a collection of comic books that he was interested in seeing.

“Sorry, Reg. I have plans.”

“Oh, I see,” he chuckles, but it does sound a little bitter. “Alright. I was going to suggest we hit the clubs, maybe meet some chicks. You haven’t been single since before you hit puberty — thought I could help show you the ways.”

Archie rolls his eyes at his friend’s attempt to be a wingman. Truth is, even if he didn’t have plans, he’s not ready for that, anyway. It’s been less than a week since he and Betty broke up, and there was still a big Veronica-sized cloud hovering above him.

“I’m meeting Jughead in Williamsburg,” he says, apologetic.

“So it _is_ true? Word out on the street is that you left B. Coop for Wednesday Addams.” Reggie smirks. Archie knits his eyebrows together. “I'm sad, dude. I always thought I'd play a part in your rude awakening.”

Archie snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, you wish. Maybe next time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that!” Reggie jokes as Archie walks away.

Archie checks his phone as he approaches the coffee shop. Jughead just got off his shift. He spots his friend walking out to meet him. “Perfect timing,” he chuckles.

During the past week, they’ve gotten into a comfortable flow during their daily commute, going as far as checking each other’s schedules to see when they could travel together or stop somewhere for a bite. Jughead has been to the Andrews’s loft once, briefly, but Archie still has no idea where his house is. All Archie knows is he lives in Williamsburg, too.

They approach the brick home a couple of blocks from Archie’s place. The potted plants are a little sad looking and the shutters are starting to chip, but it’s an actual _house_ , and not an apartment of sorts, which Archie thinks is cool.

“I’m sorry if it’s a little cramped. It’s not much.” Archie can sense a little nervousness as Jughead retrieves keys from the pocket of his flannel jacket, unlocking the door and ushering him inside.

Jughead hangs his keys on a hook in the hallway, setting his bag down on a wooden table running along the wall. Archie follows him into the living room.

The house _is_ , indeed, a little cramped, but it looks more like a home than anywhere Archie has ever stepped foot in after their move to the Upper East Side. His mom’s apartment was a palace, and his dad’s loft was still too nice. This was a little more like the place they lived when Archie was a kid and his parents’ careers still hadn’t taken off. “It’s a cool place, man,” he says, sincerely.

“Yeah.” Jughead throws himself on the brown leather couch. There are some books on the coffee table with dog-eared pages. The remote is tossed on the sofa as if someone just watched television and left. On the wall behind the couch is a window, and on the TV-rack, some family pictures. They’re pictures of what must be little Jughead, still wearing the same grey beanie, and framed drawings signed by Jughead and _Jellybean._

“So, that’s your sister?” Archie points to a little girl in one of the pictures, sitting on the opposite couch. Jughead nods and Archie analyzes the photo: she’s wearing a red bow on her head and looks like she’s a few years younger than them, but has the same blue eyes as her brother. “And your parents?” He points to another photo, apparently a Jones family portrait.

Jughead’s mom looks good with long brown hair, and his dad could be Jughead in twenty years or so. The kids really are a mix of them both. Archie smiles a little, feeling wistful for something.

“They’re divorced. She lives in Toledo,” Jughead says, getting up and suddenly disappearing from the living room. Archie doesn’t have time to think if he should follow when Jughead comes back with a bag of Doritos in hand. “Just me, Dad, and JB now. Everything is very friendly,” he points, and Archie understands. His parents are very friendly too, except when they aren’t. “My mom got married again. The guy is a good-hearted nightmare.”

Archie chuckles, taking some Doritos from the bag when Jughead offers. His eyes wander through the living room and fall into a guitar sitting propped in the far corner. “At least I still haven’t dealt with _that_ ,” Archie says. “Who plays?” He nods at the instrument.

The acoustic guitar is of lesser quality than the one that sits in Archie’s room, looks to have collected a layer of dust as well.

“My dad,” Jughead explains. “He used to be in a band back in the day. But well, you say you want to work with music, right? So why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

Archie furrows his eyebrows. He’s always been very private about his skills, hating to be put on the spot.

Jughead laughs, setting the Doritos down and walking over to where the instrument sits. He lays it down on Archie’s lap before plopping himself back down on his couch. “Look, man, you won’t know if you’re any good at it unless someone tells you, so play me something you’ve written.”

A rush of blood comes to Archie’s cheeks, but he supposes Jughead is right. Hesitantly, he situates the guitar, holding it and practicing a few chords noting it’s a little out of tune. Jughead watches him with a mouthful of chips. He doesn’t look too expectant, which makes Archie more comfortable. “Ok,” he agrees. “But don’t hope for too much.”

“I swear I’m not. At all,” Jughead says, making Archie laugh.

He takes a deep breath and starts playing the first thing that comes to his head — a song that he’s been perfecting over the past few months. It takes him a few chords to get into the mood, but once he connects with what he’s playing, it gets easier. He starts singing softly, ignoring the first portion of the song. “ _...oh, remember at sixteen… the crazy, drunken night we had… when I kissed you in the hallway, then took you to my bed. Oh, two years on, and I’m still the same boy I was,”_ he picks up the pace of the song, eyes closed to sing the chorus. _“Not sleeping at night. But I’m going from bar to bar… Why can’t we just rewind? Why can’t we just rewind? Why can’t we just rewind?_ ” Archie sucks in a breath to follow to the last part he’s written, only a few days ago. _“You might blame it on me, but you insisted that we fall… Wiped your hands off me and said you needed more…”_

The song just repeats, so he slowly stops playing, his heartbeat a bit faster than it was. He looks up at Jughead, who has his eyebrows lifted in, maybe, surprise. Archie feels his face warming up, not sure if that’s a good or a bad sign. “It’s rough.”

“Oh, no, it’s good. A bit too John Mayer for my taste, but you’re onto something here.” Jughead nods and sounds sincere. Archie scratches the back of his head. “I just… Think you shouldn’t play this song to anyone at school.” Archie frowns. “I _have_ read the blasts. I know you were into some sort of love triangle.”

The flush on Archie’s cheeks goes up to his ears. “You read the Blue and Gold?”

“It’s not exactly Pulitzer worthy literature, but it’s _interesting_ , sometimes.” Jughead laughs.

“I really hurt Betty.” Archie sighs, remorseful, as he pulls another chord just to have something to do with his hands. “But what happened with Veronica just…” he breathes out. He can never find words to talk about the same way he has to sing about it.

“Listen, I have nothing to do with it. It’s just… For the time being, maybe you should keep your songs away from the Upper East Side.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping. But then his brain catches up with something. “Wait. You said I sound like John Mayer?”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “You _would_ be a fan.”

Veronica returns to the Five Seasons in the late afternoon on Friday, finally receiving her acceptance to the Stonewall & Spence Model UN team. She’s been thrilled to be able to share this news with her father, knowing how much this will help after the mixer fiasco. He promised he’d call on Sunday when he returns from Shanghai.

Andre is expecting her back downstairs in half an hour, when he’ll take her to pick up Betty before the _Blossom Soirée_ , so she doesn’t have much time to talk right now, anyway.

Clifford and Penelope are reportedly still in Milan, which means Cheryl has the house to herself. She promised the girls "a night like no other".

Veronica pushes open the suite’s double doors where Hermione sits at the dining room table, sorting through some paperwork and drinking from a small espresso cup. The last few days have been better between them. The therapist at the Phoenix Center suggested replacing some bad habits, and it turns out her mother is turning to caffeine, now. A better substance than others, Veronica supposes.

Hermione looks more like herself today, pushing her own black glasses up past her hairline and wearing one of her many silk blouses.

“Hey, mom,” she greets.

“Mija,” Hermione smiles back at her daughter. “I wasn’t expecting you back so early.”

“I had to come back and get my bags for Cheryl’s sleepover, remember?”

Her mother smiles and sets down the stack of papers she’s aligning. “Of course.”

It took a little bit of assurance to Hermione while trying to explain why Betty said what she said at the mixer, leaving her with most of the truth: Betty was upset Veronica left last year without any explanation and ended up making assumptions.

“Good news! You’re looking at Spence’s newest addition to the Model UN team!” Veronica looks over her shoulder to see a genuine smile on her mother’s face, feeling proud to share this news after unceremoniously jeopardizing her chances of attending _any_ Ivy League.

“That’s wonderful news. We can celebrate tomorrow with dinner wherever you’d like.”

She stands to follow Veronica to her room, holding her cup and leaning against the doorframe like she’s been doing lately to carry on their conversations. Hermione watches as she gathers a few items into the black bag already out on her desk chair.

Veronica remembers to throw in the matching pajamas she and Betty picked up from Bergdorfs and throws in the satin slippers they got as well. She sneaks in a little black dress to wear out tonight, just to be prepared, knowing they will most certainly end up in some club. If that’s the case, she’s going to text Kevin and Reggie to join them.

“I’ll be back early tomorrow. Maybe pasta?” Veronica asks, a bit hopeful to keep things on track between them.

Her mother smiles back at her. “That sounds good. Have fun, mija. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cheryl stands in Thornhill’s foyer, watching as racks of clothes are wheeled in from the private elevator. The Blossom’s butler arranges a few stray suitcases by the stairs and the family’s maids put the final touches on the secluded space for the sleepover. With her parents still out of the country, Cheryl wanted to make this the best soirée yet, with all sorts of surprises planned for her guests.

She had only the finest silk linens flown in to dress the beds and hired a full salon staff to pamper the attendees with facials and pedicures. Cheryl even went all out to find a private bartender, who preferred her payment in cash while serving rich minors, to keep the drinks flowing all night.

Tina and Ginger come to stand on either side of her, watching as Midge and Nancy set their bags next to each other on two beds near Cheryl’s. “We heard B and V are on their way up.” The other two minions walk towards the makeshift salon and pluck two glasses from the bar, settling in to get their manicures touched up.

Cheryl feels a smirk growing on her face, lip curling upward as Betty and Veronica step out of the elevator shaft with their arms linked and laughter annoyingly echoing throughout the penthouse.

“Hi, Cher!” Veronica greets in her direction, painfully kind. She and Betty give her a simultaneous quick hug, squishing her face between blonde and black hair.

“Hey, girls,” Cheryl offers back, letting go of them. “Glad you made it!”

The duo picks their beds in the corner and Cheryl’s surprised they don’t decide to share one mattress with how close they’ve gotten again.

Cheryl studies them carefully, a total one-eighty from where they were just a week ago. It’s like absolutely nothing had happened. She can’t help the feeling that comes over her.

“I’m really glad they made it,” she tells Ginger and Tina when they approach her with a drink they fetched for her. “I’m in the mood for chaos.”

* * *

_uh, oh. careful, girls. here’s an inside tip: the faster you rise, the harder you fall. we hope those satin sleeping masks double as parachutes._

* * *

Hermione sits in the living room of their suite for exactly thirty-five minutes after Veronica leaves, each one of them haunted by an all-consuming thought. She thinks about how easy it is to get what she craves: the makeshift home is free from addictive substances, since her daughter makes sure to inspect every closet and drawer _every day_ , but still. One phone call and anything could be in her hands.

The therapist at the Phoenix Center always tells her to recognize these creeping thoughts and to count until thirty when they come. It’s gotten easier since Veronica’s return, but the silence makes it harder.

After Hermione gets down to number thirty, she tries a deep breath, closing the book sitting on her lap. She reaches out for her bag. The therapist always says, too, that she needs to call someone if the thoughts don’t go away.

She means to get her phone, wondering _who_ in her contact list could be trusted with such a task. She can’t rely on Veronica _always_ , especially after what happened last weekend — it would be _cruel_ to interrupt her girl’s night out. She is, after all, only sixteen.

Hermione almost laughs thinking she could, maybe, call Hiram.

Shaking her head, her hand finds something else in her purse, other than her phone. She frowns, taking the business card given to her during the Ivy Mixer and staring at it intently. A name she didn’t think she’d read anywhere again.

_FP Jones II  
Claremont Treatment Center_

Hermione bites her lip. This isn’t a phone call she _should_ be making, all things considered.

About thirty minutes later, after getting dressed and counting to thirty a dozen times, she has Andre drop her off at the cross street in Bushwick where Southside Motors has been located for at least twenty-five years.

She pulls her camel coat a little tighter around her waist and looks around, always a little paranoid that her Upper East Side circle will somehow learn of her whereabouts. Truthfully, it’s been some time since she’s visited her former neighborhood.

Hermione spots a man wearing a familiar leather jacket, pulling down the door to the auto shop. She gives herself a few seconds to debate whether or not she should turn back. Finally clearing her throat, she smiles when he turns around with a look of confusion on his aging face.

She remembers that look, among many others she hasn’t really seen in a long time.

“Hermione Gomez,” he greets, looking her over.

She rolls her eyes. He called her by her maiden name at the mixer too, surprising her by saying that his son — the same age as Veronica, similar black hair — was a scholarship student at Stonewall.

 _It’s Lodge now_ , she said last week. He _knows_ it’s Lodge now. She doesn’t have it in her to say it again, suppressing her smile with her lip between her teeth instead.

“Hi, FP.”

He blows out a laugh with a shake of his head. “What brings you to Bushwick? I didn’t think this place was clean enough for you.”

She starts counting again, regaining her confidence in why she came in the first place. “I’ve been to dirtier places I guess,” she says, dropping her arms to her side. “ _Few_ , but dirtier.”

FP chuckles. “I’m surprised you remembered the address,” he says.

“Well, I spent half of my teenage years in this garage.” She takes a step towards him. “My problem isn’t my memory.”

He gets more serious, then. “Is everything okay?”

“I need someone to be my sponsor, I suppose.” She breathes out. Different from everyone else in the city, FP didn’t think that her _time away_ was due to a cosmetic procedure. He’s been a sober sponsor for _years_ now, and somehow caught word about her stay in the Phoenix Center. He sent flowers after two decades of radio silence and a simple _hang in there_ in a card, while Hiram just sent a veiled _don’t embarrass our business_ threat with _his_ flowers. “Last week, you… said you could help. And I’ve been thinking about it, but there’s no one else I can trust.”

It’s true. She trusts FP, knowing he fought off his own demons once upon a time. They’ve seen each other go through so much — she doesn’t feel ashamed, coming to him now and asking for his help.

He looks at her for a lingering moment. There’s a grease smudge on his stubbled cheek. “You got it, m’lady.”

An hour later, Veronica looks around the Blossom’s penthouse as the girls get their makeup professionally done and start talking a little more loosely with the strong cocktails being served. Cheryl showed them to their assigned clothing rack filled with couture and rows of accessories, instructing them to pick one of Penelope’s designs to wear for their big night out.

Betty helped zip Veronica into a little red dress, one she quite admires, and paired it with her black Louboutins. She helped find the perfect earrings for Betty to wear with the pink dress she picked.

Veronica hasn’t been out since her evening with Reggie, and as much as she’s not really in the mood for doing that now, she supposes it could be fun to go dancing with girls like old times. Especially since things are finally getting back to where they were, something worth celebrating.

She stands next to Betty, who admirably refused any alcohol until five minutes ago.

Cheryl insisted the blonde start drinking, calling her a _wet blanket_ , and having the bartender make her an alcoholic Shirley Temple, complete with two maraschino cherries. She made Betty finish the beverage in its entirety, as a _dare_.

It fueled an entire round of _truth or dare_ , and then one more. Suddenly, the girls gathered in a circle with a bottle spinning in the center, randomly asking each other provocative questions and assigning alarming tasks.

Veronica isn’t stupid enough to be caught choosing _truth_. Of course, everyone _knows_ all of her secrets already, but she’d rather that no one _remembers_ them, not wanting any setbacks with B now that they’re finally rebuilding their friendship. So, every time the bottle lands on her, she opts on swallowing down whatever’s left of alcohol on her glass, instead of saying or doing anything.

“You’re no fun.” Cheryl pouts when Veronica passes yet another round with a swig of her drink. “Okay, Nancy.” She turns to the girl sitting next to Veronica. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare, of course,” Nancy says. Betty laughs a little too loud and claps — unlike Veronica, her best friend can’t hold her liquor that well.

“Well, I dare you to go down to the lobby and bring Jeeves’s belt to us, no matter what you have to do to get it.” Cheryl takes a sip of her Manhattan _._ Veronica laughs with everyone else. “You have ten minutes.”

Nancy proudly tilts her head. “I’ll be right back.”

Tina sets an alarm as soon as Nancy walks out the door. Cheryl tells the bartender to give them another round of drinks while they wait. Betty takes one of the cherries in her cocktail and gives it to Veronica. “These are seriously good,” she says, giggly, her face all pink.

Veronica can’t help but laugh at her tipsy friend, bringing their foreheads together. “Take it slow, B.” She advises, planting a kiss on Betty’s temple.

Tina’s countdown is still on minute five when Nancy returns with not only the doorman’s belt around her wrist but also his hat on her head, shocking everyone. Then, the bottle lands on Betty, who dares Tina to kiss Midge with an open mouth.

Cheryl rolls her eyes saying that fake-lesbian kisses are _very passé_ , and tells Betty to drink more since her dare of choice was so old-fashioned.

“This is against the rules,” Veronica protests when Betty finishes her drink. The blonde excuses herself and starts walking a little wobbly in her heels to the bathroom.

“I see you’re not drinking too much, V. Do you want something else?” Cheryl asks, lifting one of her eyebrows. “Maybe a _ginger smash_? Isn’t that what they served you at the Mantle Wedding?”

 _Of course_.

She takes a deep breath. She should’ve known that all of this was too easy. “Don’t push me, Cheryl. I’m here in peace, and you don’t wanna get me started.” Her eyes turn to slits at Cheryl in silent warning. Veronica has every intention of standing her ground, not about to put Betty in the crossfire of hers and Cheryl’s impending fight.

“Come on, Veronica. I’m just joking. It’s nice that Betty finally forgave you.” Cheryl’s voice is as sweet as the maraschino cherry Betty fed her some minutes earlier. “Isn’t it?”

Veronica barely has a chance to answer when Betty comes back, pulling the hem of her skirt down, looking a little uncomfortable in the short dress. Veronica turns her head to glare at Cheryl, who just smirks back.

Tina interrupts their silent argument. “The car’s out front. Let’s go, bitches!”

“Woo!” Betty adorably lifts both her arms.

Before getting up, Veronica pulls out her phone and sends identical texts to Reggie and Kevin, inviting them to join the party. Whatever Cheryl has in store for tonight, Veronica knows she’ll probably need her best soldiers on the front lines with her.

Jughead’s sister comes home from her art class with her t-shirt stained and her hands sticky from glue. She has a weird reaction when she walks into the living room and sees Archie — her eyes widen and she freezes, saying _Jughead, I hate you_ before storming off to her room.

“Hello to you too,” Jughead says with a confused frown. Archie mimics his expression. “I guess she wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“Uh.” Archie scratches the back of his head.

Jughead looks down at his watch. “My dad shall be home any minute now, he’s about to close up the garage. Wanna go grab a bite? Toni is working a shift at Pop’s.”

Archie sets the guitar down. “Yeah, man. Sure.”

“JB!” Jughead screams while heading at the door. “Do you want something from Pop’s?”

“No!” She yells back from her room.

A five-minute walk later, Archie and Jughead stroll into the neon-lit diner where the aroma of greasy food welcomes them. On the way, Archie was promised the best milkshake in town and this place looks like it could deliver.

There’s a girl behind the counter with purple-streaked hair in a ponytail. She throws a salute to Jughead and quickly holds up a finger, signaling she’ll be right over. He follows his friend through the aisle and slides into Jughead’s booth of choice.

They sit across from each other on the red leather cushions, cracked just slightly, when the girl from the counter comes over with a pen behind her ear.

“Hi, Jones,” she greets with a small smile.

“Toni, hey. This is Archie Andrews,” Jughead nods towards Archie, who’s sitting across from him. “Archie, this is my best friend, Toni Topaz.”

“He won’t shut up about you,” Archie says with a smile, extending one hand for Toni to shake it. She grins — she’s pretty, kinda different from the girls he’s used to hanging out with on the Upper East Side. Even though she’s wearing the diner’s yellow uniform, Archie notices some details, like the hoop earrings and the tattoo on her wrist.

“Nice to meet ya, Red. Are you one of the preppies Jug goes to school with?”

“Toni…” Jughead warns.

It makes Archie chuckle. “That’s okay. I’m actually living in Williamsburg for the time being,” he explains. Toni lifts her eyebrows. “The stock markets…” he jokes. At least, tries to.

The joke falls flat, but they both look at him with amused expressions. The bell in the kitchen rings and someone yells _Order 15!_

“I gotta go get that table,” Toni says. “I’ll come back to get your orders soon.” She winks at Jughead before walking away. Archie looks fast enough to catch Jughead following her step with his eyes after the exchange.

“So. Is there a story there?” He asks.

“What?” Jughead makes a face. “No. Toni and I are just friends. Not everyone is involved in a romantic scandal like you are.” He makes a ball with the napkin and throws it at Archie, who manages to bat it away, laughing. “I did want you to meet her, though. I think she might be able to help you.”

“How so?” He frowns.

“Well, Toni _also_ works at this venue called The Wyrm on weekends. They host open mic nights and that kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

An open mic night? Just the mere thought of it overwhelms Archie.

Jughead seems to read the panic in his eyes. “Your stuff _is_ good.” He reassures. “Maybe you can’t play it at the school’s variety show yet, but here in Brooklyn, no one cares. You should get a real shot at doing what you’re meant to.”

This makes Archie wonder, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He feels grateful to have found such a friend, someone who’s willing to help him pursue his passion. It’s crazy to think about how things have changed between them in just a couple of days.

“You helped me with Garcia even after I downright said you were a privileged douchebag. Figured I owed you one.” Jughead leans over the linoleum tabletop and smiles sincerely, a friendly glint in his blue eyes. “Just think about it, okay? And we can tell Toni whenever you’re ready.”

The club is already packed when they get there, partygoers rubbing shoulder to shoulder. Cheryl is glad she had Tina reserve a table for their group, and with a couple of hundreds in the bouncer’s hand, their IDs are completely ignored.

She watches her minions flirt with a group of watered-down investment bankers that are partying after a long week on Wall Street, shamelessly throwing back shots and chanting like morons. There are no girls that catch her eye from where she’s standing.

Betty remains close by her side, so drunk that she teeters on her heels, blonde head craning around probably looking for Veronica. Cheryl ends up doing the same, and is surprised when her eyes land on Reggie Mantle hugging Veronica by the door, along with her newest shadow, _Kevin Keller_.

Her hand balls into a fist at her side. _The nerve_ of Veronica for inviting the boys to _her party_ when she made it clear tonight was for the girls only. She’s back to doing what she wants and making her own rules — Cheryl doesn’t like it one bit.

She eyes the trio as they make their way further into the club, heading in the direction of their table. Cheryl doesn’t miss the way _everyone’s_ eyes fall to Veronica, probably dumbstruck by her like always. She hates to admit Veronica does look great in red.

Reggie clambers into the roped-off section, following Veronica up the velvet-lined stairs like a party-crazed puppy. Kevin Keller looks around the club in awe, dazed by the flashing lights resembling a tourist to nightlife. Cheryl rolls her eyes.

“Nice to see you still following your booty call around town, Reginald. Oh. _And_ the gay best friend. Lovely.” She bites at the newcomers.

“Nice to see you too, Cheryl Bombshell.” Reggie leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek, making her mouth twist in distaste, and doesn’t even bother to respond to her missed comment. Kevin decides to follow his lead and ignore her too, which gets her a little annoyed.

A few minutes later, Veronica is waved back onto the dance floor by a tall familiar blond guy, promising to _be back soon!_ The blond in question is no other than Elio Grande, who was vaguely present in their early days of partying with the upperclassmen from Stonewall, though that was more _Veggie’s_ scene than hers.

She watches as Veronica greets Elio with a kiss on his cheek and starts talking to the guys at his table. They all ogle her, too, like idiots. They move to the dancing crowd near the DJ where he spins her around a few times. When the song changes into something more sensual, they dance a little more closely, her back glued to his chest.

Reggie stands beside Cheryl and nudges her arm.

“Great party, as always,” he says as he plays with the straw on his Gin-Tonic. “Thanks for inviting me.”

She scoffs, wanting to say _I didn’t_. There’s a glint of what _could be_ jealousy in Reggie’s eyes, though, so instead of dismissing him, she decides to use him. “Isn’t that Elio Grande? Oliver’s old friend from Stonewall?” She asks as if she didn’t know the answer.

Reggie nods his head, offering up nothing useful. So she tries again.

“What’s the tea on him?”

Reggie just shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “No tea. He goes to Columbia. Dates models.”

_Interesting._

Elio whispers something in Veronica’s ear that makes her laugh, carrying over the beat of the music.

“Who’s he with now? Is he one of us?” She eyes all the older guys standing where Elio was a few moments ago. Cheryl likes to think that the only thing she has in common with Reggie Mantle is that they’re both initials in the same acronym.

Reggie laughs as if offended by the outrageous assumption that Elio could be anything less than a straight dummy. “ _No_. Those are some of the guys from the university’s crew team. He rows,” he turns to face Cheryl.

“Oh.” She sips the remaining contents from her glass and pretends to focus her attention on something else in the crowd.

Their private waiter returns to their section and takes more orders, refilling the bottle in the center of the table. Cheryl orders another Manhattan as everyone else rambles off the requests in drunken slurs. Kevin eyes the colorful drink Betty holds and says he wants one of those while Reggie orders a round of jägerbombs for the group.

Veronica rejoins them, asking for water and wraps her arm tight around Betty’s waist, hugging and laughing about God knows what. It’s time to intervene, Cheryl thinks, while everyone is at their sloppiest.

Before she can spew out something to break this up, Reggie takes a step forward and slides a hand across Betty’s back, a sly smile across his handsome face. “Hey, Coop. You look ravishing.”

It makes Cheryl’s eyebrows shoot up for the first time all night, even after all the rounds of truth or dare earlier.

Betty erupts in giggles. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mantle.”

“Reggie.” Veronica steps in between them, warningly. “She’s wasted. Cool it.”

Betty irritably shrugs the raven-haired girl off her and takes a step back, arms akimbo. Cheryl holds her will to laugh.

“Why, V? It’s not like we haven’t _switched_ before.”

_Well, well._

Cheryl stands by as an innocent bystander while Veronica’s face falls from surprised to hurt. Betty takes Reggie by the hand and pulls him to the dance floor, with one lingering look at Veronica — who looks like she’s just been bitch slapped.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _**#veronicalodge** trying to rescue **#bettycooper** from **#reggiemantle** 's wandering paws. nothing hurts more than the best friend, we've heard. too bad you can't save a damsel if she's digging her own path to distress._

* * *

Veronica wakes in the morning to Betty curling against her side, muttering something about a headache before drifting off again. Veronica laughs softly and glances at her friend, who has her cheek on her shoulder. She reaches to sweep the hair out of her face — the heavy makeup from last night is smudged all around Betty’s eyes.

Sighing, Veronica grabs her phone from the nightstand. It’s earlier than she imagined, barely ten, and there are blasts from the Blue and Gold tweeting a play-by-play of what happened yesterday: Betty snapping at her in the club, then taking Reggie to the dancefloor, then looking _impossibly_ drunk while dancing with him, followed by the moment when Veronica _finally_ managed to take her out of there and hailing a cab back to the Five Seasons.

She slightly shakes her head, imagining what Alice Cooper is going to say about all of that. Betty is in for some grounding, no doubt.

There are also a few texts from one Cheryl Blossom, sent not too long ago. Veronica frowns. It’s been over a _year_ since Cheryl has texted her anything — she wasn’t even sure how the redheaded girl got her new number. Opening the thread, she finds a picture from the living room at Thornhill: the girls are all sleeping in different positions and, on the beds that should belong to Betty and Veronica, are two boys sleeping beneath the silk duvets.

Reggie and Kevin, both passed out with their mouths hanging open.

 ** _you owe me one_** , the caption says.

Veronica starts laughing uncontrollably. That’s what ends up really waking Betty up. “Ugh. Not funny,” she mutters, running a hand over her eye.

“Oh, boy,” Veronica says. She quickly answers Cheryl, **_thanks for taking care of them. i got my hands full with boozy betty, here._** “How are you feeling?”

Betty slowly sits up in the bed, groaning and looking around. Veronica can’t help but smile. _That’s_ a situation she’s been in numerous times. “How did we get here? Why didn’t we go back to Cheryl’s?”

Cheryl’s reply comes fast: a winky emoji and her signature cherry one.

“Oh, okay.” Veronica sits up too. Not getting wasted yesterday was the right decision: she feels so much better than Betty looks. “What’s the last thing you remember?” She asks, reaching out for the water bottle and aspirin she left on her nightstand to offer Betty in the morning.

“Thanks,” Betty says when she takes the med, washing it down with a gulp of water. “We got to the club. Then, we were at the club.” She raises her eyebrows. “That’s it.”

“Alright.” Veronica looks at her. She’s wearing a t-shirt that Veronica managed to convince her to shove her head through before she fell down on the mattress. Her blonde hair is one wild mess. “I decided to drag your ass out of there when _you_ decided that making out with Reggie would be the highlight of your night.”

Betty chokes on her water, green eyes widening and face turning pink. “I did what?!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I managed to get you out of there before anything happened.” Veronica laughs. “Though I don’t know _who_ exactly I was saving.”

That causes the girls to chuckle, shaking on the bed in comfortable laughter. After a beat of laughter that transitions to silence, Veronica finds herself thinking about one other thing Betty did last night, something that's been running through her mind since.

“Hey, B,” she starts. “Last night you said something. It probably didn’t mean much, given your _state_ , but I'm not—”

Betty’s eyes turn wide, cutting her off. “Oh no. What did I say?”

“It isn’t what you said, it’s what you insinuated. Regarding our _quasi-_ love square.” Veronica doesn’t want to repeat it, shaking her head. But Betty keeps looking at her like she really wants to know. “You said that… We had _switched_ before.” She clarifies.

Betty looks down at her hands, wringing them over Veronica’s comforter.

“I’m just… Afraid, I guess, that this is always going to come back to haunt us,” she tells Betty honestly.

Betty sits straighter and looks into her friend’s eyes. She appears regretful. “It seems like some part of me — some bitter, unconscious part of me — is still hurt,” she confesses in a small voice.

Veronica feels that pain too, right in her stomach. “What can I do to really fix it, B?”

Betty shakes her head. “You can’t do anything. It’s… A matter of time, I guess. Of getting used to it.” She presses her lips together. “I think I just really need you to be honest with me, from now on.” She reaches out to place a hand on top of Veronica’s. “I don’t want us to walk on eggshells around each other.”

Veronica nods, holding Betty’s hand in hers.

“Sometimes… It’s hard to admit things to yourself, you know. A lot has changed in my life while you were gone. And the hardest thing was realizing that Archie and I just… Didn’t belong together. And it’s not only because of you. What happened only pushed me to see the truth.”

Veronica takes in her words. “B. You’re calling the shots here. If you want me to… Just never talk to him again, I’ll—”

Betty shakes her head. “No. No, that’s insane,” she says, holding Veronica’s hand a little harder. She looks up at her, then, green eyes full of honesty. “What you said in the letter... Are you still in love with him?”

Veronica inhales. She holds her breath for a few seconds and releases it slowly. She promised she’d be honest, but the truth is, she isn’t sure how she feels. It’s a lot of guilt — for leaving him alone, for doing that to Betty, for holding it inside for so long — and she can’t comprehend what other feelings are mixed in with that. “I don’t know. It’s different, now.”

“Well… If you want to find out… I’d be okay with that,” Betty tells her. Veronica frowns, searching for a _catch_ , but there’s none. Betty’s lips curl up in a small smile. “Pinky promise,” she holds up her right hand, extending her pinky, where her gold ring lies.

Veronica tries not to tear up, but she does. She links her own ring-wearing pinky finger with Betty’s, smiling in relief.

“But then I get Nick Jonas,” Betty jokes, making Veronica laugh.

* * *

_everyone knows you can't choose the battles you’ll win, but you can choose who will fight them with you. and in a world ruled by bank accounts and bloodlines, it pays to have an ally. as much as a bff can make you go wtf, there's no denying they make life a little richer. and **#beronica**? they do besties better than anyone. what happens next? only time will tell._

* * *

Monday comes around and Jughead finds himself walking down the corridor to the Spence-Stonewall newspaper office, The Register, like Archie suggested. It’s as good an extracurricular as any with the prospect of writing to add to his portfolio and maybe even take some pictures — and, at the very least, he won’t have to deal with many people.

He reaches the room and knocks briskly on the open door. He’s wearing his beanie today, _just for luck_.

“Hey,” he announces. Betty Cooper, Archie’s ex-girlfriend who had been in charge of the paper ever since their freshman year, turns around. She’s standing by a desk, shuffling on some papers, ponytail in place. She frowns when she sees him walking into the room. “Weatherbee said I should apply for some extracurriculars and I heard you were looking for someone to help you out here at the paper?”

Betty wrinkles her forehead. She’s either surprised or confused. Maybe both.

Jughead shakes his head. He really is _terrible_ around people. “Sorry. I’m J—”

“Forsythe Jones?” She guesses, making _him_ surprised _and_ confused. Then, her expression shifts into something bright and easy, kinda like the smiles that take over Archie’s face sometimes. “Yes! You won the latest essay competition, I remember you getting the award,” she says. “The influence of Truman Capote’s work in nowadays New York, was it?”

Jughead shoots his eyebrows towards his hairline. He won that competition last spring. “Y… You know who I am?” He ends up asking.

 _That’s a first_.

Betty’s cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink. “I’m good with names and faces,” she explains. “Well, _of course_ , I really do need help here. By the way, I’m Betty. Welcome to The Register, Forsythe.”

“You can call me Jughead,” he says, taking another step into the room. She seems to ponder what’s _that_ all about, but doesn’t ask anything.

“Okay, Jughead. You can… still call me Betty.” She laughs and Jughead ends up smiling. “You can take this desk.” She points to a dusty desk across from hers, and twirls her blonde ponytail around her fingers. “It’s the only one available, too.”

Jughead chuckles, placing his books on top of the desk.

“Alright. Put me to work.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what was one Register employee is now... Two! Is Beronica really on good terms now? Has Betty meant what she said about Veronica having carte blanche for exploring her feelings? Will Archie have a breakthrough with his music?
> 
> Always amazing to see your feedback and interaction, thank you so much! We're on tumblr @andsmile and @monicaposh. Oh, maybe you'll need a mask for the next update, not the N95 type 😉
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
>   * Sean Kingston - Beautiful Girls (at the beginning, B&V last scene; definitely one of Vik's favorites Archie songs lol)
>   * Band of Horses - Infinite Arms (the song Archie writes that V reads)
>   * Kings of Convenience - Gold in the Air of Summer (the song Archie sings to V)
>   * Gym Class Heroes - The Queen and I (sleepover jam)
>   * Paolo Nutini - Rewind (the song Archie plays to Jughead)
>   * Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Kiss, Kiss (diner background)
>   * Nicky Jam - Whine Up (club scene)
> 



	5. #amaskedtale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, loves! Super quick note here, but we're so happy with all the feedback and we're hoping to deliver this masquerade ball, which is ultimately one of our favorite Gossip Girl episodes. We are so glad to have you here and hope you enjoy this chapter, this Saturday night! It's 13k this time, but we promise you, it's worth it! 💋

**— we hide our emotions under the surface  
and try to pretend _—_**

_good evening, you pretties. **@blueandgold** here and while we let our tea bubble over the cauldron, we’ve got a tale of legend for you. long ago, halloween was called samhain, a day to celebrate the return of ghosts from the past. they danced naked around bonfires under the moon — today, we simply call that spring break. point is, little remains of the samhain in american halloween, especially among high society, where forms of trick or treating occur every saturday night — but we’re curious, would your ghosts recognize you behind a mask?_

_nowadays, the privileged sinners residing on the upper east side celebrate at the union club’s masquerade — a wicked halloween tradition not to be missed._

**_spotted:_ ** _at cartier, st. bernard's queen **#donnasweett** with her entourage, trying on jewelry for the ball. meanwhile, not to be outdone, spence's current queen **#cherylblossom** asking for the help of former queen **#veronicalodge** to assist her in finding the perfect dress for saturday. sorry, donna…_

* * *

_“...but you are no match for this powerful duo,”_ Cheryl finishes the sentence with a raise of her eyebrows. “Apparently, the Blue and Gold thinks that our forces combined have taken over St. Bernard’s.”

Veronica laughs, watching as Cheryl sets the phone aside and scoots closer, skimming over the menu they share. They’ve just got their table at The Dakota Bar after meeting Hermione’s personal tailor. Their dresses for the ball are gorgeous, altered to perfection, and Veronica can’t wait to pair hers with the pearl mask she found downtown with Betty last week.

“So what exactly is going on between you and Donna Sweett?” Veronica asks, glancing at the cocktail list. It’s been fun not being caught in a catfight with Cheryl — she had almost forgotten how close they once were.

Cheryl rolls her eyes. It’s always been a longstanding rivalry between the school’s queens, even before Cheryl picked up Veronica’s crown last year. Donna’s reign at St. Bernard’s is recent, but she’s always carried a competitive torch for Cheryl Blossom — from captaining their respective field hockey teams to battling it out as the foundation chair of the Junior League, it’s amusing to see the redhead so worked up about another girl in charge.

“We’ve been plotting and texting about the ball… I’m not sure if we’re fighting or enjoying some kind of foreplay between all these messages.”

Veronica lifts one eyebrow, and is about to answer when her phone chirps from her bag. She gets it, smiling when she sees her best friend's contact photo on the screen. “Hey, B,” she answers pleasantly, pointing to the espresso martini on the menu.

Cheryl nods in agreement and lifts a hand to call for a waitress.

“Hi, V,” Betty answers. Her voice is low — she’s not supposed to be calling Veronica. Shocking literally no one, Alice Cooper _did_ ground Betty after what happened at the sleepover last weekend. “Did you guys get the dresses handled?”

Veronica inspects her wine-colored nail, wondering if she’ll have them painted black for the weekend, maybe a deeper plum. “We did. Your measurements are in and Jeeves is going to pick them up Saturday morning to bring them back to Thornhill.”

“Thank you,” the blonde breathes out in relief over the line. “Alright. I’m working on a plan, but I’ll keep you updated. Thank Cheryl for me, too. I gotta run!”

Veronica laughs at Betty’s exasperation through the phone. “Alright, Bye, B.” She blows a kiss, making a loud _smack_ sound.

“Does she know how she’ll fool her keeper this weekend?” Cheryl asks after ordering Veronica’s drink and a maple old-fashioned for herself. “I mean, it’s _imperative_ that I have her around this Saturday.”

“Why? You’re going to be all busy with Donna,” Veronica teases.

“No way. Cheryl’s fucking _Donna Sweett_?” a voice calls her attention. Veronica looks up to see Reggie, who apparently arrived just in time with Kevin on his heels. He leans in to kiss her on the cheek, smelling and looking great as usual, and proceeds to do the same to Cheryl.

“You really can’t go anywhere without your bodyguards, huh, Veronica?” Cheryl asks with a bitter tone. Veronica didn’t really warn her that she was inviting the boys. Kevin, who just sat by Veronica’s side, snorts.

The waitress approaches to take the boys’ order of _two hot toddies._

“Isn’t Donna St. Bernard’s _queen_?” Kevin inquires with his never-ending Blue and Gold knowledge. Veronica makes a mental note about asking _why_ he walked in _with_ Reggie, just like he did the other night at the club.

“Yeah,” Reggie steals an olive from the little plate of appetizers in the center of the table. “Been there, done that. She’s top-tier, Cheryl.”

“Is there _anyone_ on this island you haven’t slept with, Mantle?” Cheryl asks, sounding a bit disgusted.

“Well, _you_.” Reggie wiggles his eyebrows, making both Veronica and Kevin chuckle. “By the way, I’m loving this set up.” He makes a gesture between all four of them. “It’s like a gay convention.”

Kevin and Veronica laugh out loud, again while Cheryl rolls her eyes with an amused smirk. “Let’s drink to that,” Kevin jeers when their drinks arrive. The four of them clink their glasses together and down the first of a few cocktails.

Archie sits across from his parents on one side of the table, feeling like a little kid as he pokes at his food uninterested. The small Italian restaurant on 2nd Avenue is somewhere Mary makes reservations when she’s opting for a _family dinner_ — something that, since the divorce, only happens when they’re uniting against Archie.

They go through a lot of small-talk until they get to the point. Archie idly answers questions about the soccer season, his plans for the weekend, how his friends are doing. If he’s thinking about patching things up with Betty.

“No,” he says firmly, grabbing a mouthful of gnocchi only so they don’t make him speak more about this topic.

The way that his mom and dad glance at each other, though, shows that the _point_ is coming.

“Son,” she starts. “I spoke with Mr. Garcia this morning and he’s agreed to come back and spend a night in New York. Isn’t that good news?” She asks with a tight smile as she cuts up her eggplant parmesan, a little forcefully as her eyes bore into his.

He looks to his father who smiles, too, nodding his head and encouraging Archie's thankful response.

_Oh, fucking hell._

Archie sets down his silverware, decidedly done with his half-eaten dinner, before heaving out a breath and looking at both his parents. “Not really. I’m not going to meet with him because I’m not interested in Dartmouth,” he says, and it feels as good as it did the first time. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

Mary flinches at his words, while Fred’s face remains unreadable. His mother takes a sip of her wine and concentrates on setting it down. “Ok. So you don’t want to go to Dartmouth. You could still apply to—“

“Mom.” He says seriously, praying his courage holds up for a little longer. “I already told you. I don’t think I want to go to college.”

“Archie…” Fred speaks up.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I want the same things you want for me.”

His mother scoffs, picking up her glass again. “You’re only seventeen, Archie. You don’t know _what_ you want.”

“Look,” he says, running a hand through his hair, holding on to his last shreds of patience. “I’ve been giving some thought to playing music. There are a few people I’ve talked to, that…”

Mary laughs humorlessly with a shake of her head. “ _Music?_ Your father and I haven’t worked this hard for you to just throw it away for some dream.”

She says it so callously, it pisses him off. Archie looks at his dad as if asking for a little help — a glance they’ve shared more than often throughout their lives when Mary was being particularly intolerant.

But Fred only sighs. His warm eyes are even a little apologetic when he starts speaking with a leveled tone. “Arch. We’ve spent a lot of money on your education. We’re able to send you to one of the best private schools in the country because of the sacrifices we’ve made as a family.”

The fact that his dad is taking his mother’s side and using _her_ condescending voice just makes him even angrier. “I didn’t ask for you to do that, did I? You could have sent me to public school for all I care.”

“Archie,” Fred says again, this time in warning.

It’s frustrating, but Archie doesn’t want to make a scene _again_. It’s not worth it anyway. Instead, he sets his napkin on the table and stands. “Thanks for dinner,” he says politely before pushing in his seat and leaves.

He ignores his parents' calls behind him, needing to just get the fuck out of here.

After storming out of the restaurant, Archie contemplates taking the subway back to Brooklyn, but he really doesn’t want to deal with his parents for as long as he can avoid them. So, he heads up 93rd Street instead, towards Reggie’s apartment, hoping his friend will let him crash for the night. Maybe longer.

He keys in the electronic code at the entrance and offers a wave to the building’s concierge before taking the elevator all the way up to his floor. He’s slept over enough times to be recognized by all the employees. Walking to the end of the hall, he pulls out his cellphone to check the time. Archie is granted access from the memorized digits and opens Reggie’s front door, peering around to see if he’s home.

“Reg?” He says to the darkness, thumb hovering over his contact to give him a call.

“Sup, Andrews?” He greets on the third ring as Archie finds the switch to flip on the lights.

Before Archie can answer, the door swings open behind him, revealing a wide-eyed Reggie with his phone pressed to his ear. They chuckle and lower their hands, phones slipping into back pockets.

“What you’re doing here, man?” Reggie asks. He has his cheeks red from the cold outside and is most likely a little tipsy.

“I was hoping I could crash here for a while. Until Monday, maybe,” he asks sheepishly.

Reggie raises an eyebrow while opening his fridge, pulling out two water bottles and tossing one to Archie. “What— _Jughead_ doesn’t have a couch for you to sleep on?”

Archie scoffs, catching the water bottle and meets Reggie’s smile in understanding. “Thanks, man. Dinner with my parents didn’t go too well.” He admits.

“Hey. _Mi casa es su casa_.” He shrugs playfully. “But take a page from The Book of Reg: if you want to disappoint two people at the same time, it’s better to have a threesome than dinner with your parents.”

“Is it always so… _slow_?” Forsyt… _Jughead_ asks. Betty, who spent the past half an hour beating her brain on how she could trick her mother tomorrow night, looks up with her eyebrows knitted together.

“Oh.” She twirls the curl of her ponytail. Fair enough: working at The Register isn’t like working in a busy newspaper and, many times between editions, they have full hours without doing much. But she wouldn’t call it _slow_. “I mean. It’s a quinzenal edition because there isn’t _too much_ to report and you happened to join right after I just finished this month’s second edition, so we can take a while to start with the first one for November.”

He leans back in his chair. It’s only the third time she works with him — the first two being mostly just showing him around the office and machinery, and teaching him some stuff — but Betty felt really comfortable around him. Maybe because he’s quiet but curious, smart, and a quick learner. Somehow, there are a few times when he’s reminded her of _herself_.

“Why isn’t there much to report?” He opens a bag of M&M’s, grabbing a handful before offering it to her.

Betty bites her lower lip before accepting. She takes only a couple. “Mrs. Honey prefers it to be strictly academic, so there’s only so much we can do. I did convince her to do a lifestyle-slash-gossip column once, but there was… Well. The Blue and Gold always had the news first, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“I see.”

“I know, it’s more boring than you thought it would be,” she says, apologetic. “But I promise it’ll get better once we start to put the next edition together.”

“What?” Jughead widens his eyes. Betty notices that they’re blue. His voice is a bit funny since his mouth is full of M&M’s. “No, this isn’t what I meant.”

“We should’ve started today. It’s just that… I’m trying to come up with a plan so I can escape my house and go to this party tomorrow,” she confesses, sighing. Jughead frowns, maybe unaware of the event. Betty smiles — now that she thinks about it, she’s never seen him around at any party, even though she’s seen him around with Archie (of all people) a few times in the past couple of weeks. “The Union Club mask ball? My mom grounded me, and you know. Margaret Thatcher has nothing on her.”

He scratches his nose quickly. “Can I help in some way?”

Betty narrows her eyes. Now that she’s come to think about it— “Actually… What _are you_ doing on Saturday night?”

Archie wakes early on Saturday, stretching comfortably on Reggie’s pull-out futon. His friend is already mixing in his blender, music filtering through the speakers in his galley kitchen.

“Morning, bro.” He smiles at Archie when he takes a seat at the island’s breakfast bar.

Reggie slides a cup filled with something green across the granite and Archie looks at it suspiciously. “Good morning,” he greets back.

“Ok so I have a Bumble match meeting me near Columbus Circle in an hour so I’m heading out. But I have your tux and mask hanging up in my closet, black garment bag,” Reggie explains while moving around deftly through the space.

“What? Reg?” Archie shakes his head. “I’m not going to the ball.” There’s _no way_ he’s going. The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind.

Reggie laughs, waving a dismissive hand at him. “ _You’re going_ , Andrews. I’ve got everything handled. I think your tightly wound self could use a night out.”

He pulls at the borrowed black t-shirt he wears now, looking around the apartment while his friend says goodbye and promising he’ll _be back in time for the party,_ before shutting the door and leaving Archie alone.

There’s a little pile of folded clothes laid out for him on the credenza. Archie picks a pair of jogging pants and a fresh shirt, preparing for his routine weekend run through Central Park.

His phone vibrates against the glass coffee table, a picture of Fred Andrews on the home screen. He blows out a breath. Of course, his ingrained good-manners had him text both his parents on Thursday night to let them know he’d be staying at Reggie’s, but he hasn’t talked to either since.

Archie waits for the phone to ring a couple more times before fetching it. He’s already tired of the conversation before answering. “Hello.”

“Archie,” his dad greets with a serious voice. “Are you okay? Still at Reggie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“You should come home, son. Here or to your mother’s.” He almost pleads.

Archie clenches his jaw and starts to pace around the studio apartment. “I’ll be back in Brooklyn on Monday, after school. I just need this weekend with my friends.”

His father sighs on the other end of the call. “Archie… You can’t treat your mother this way,” Fred says. “She only wants what’s best for you and we didn’t raise you to be ungrateful.”

“I’m not _ungrateful_ , Dad. I know everything you’ve done for me,” Archie responds, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. “But it’s just— why can’t I have a say in the things _I want_ for my life? I’m tired of being treated by her like a…” _a project_ , he wants to say, but swallows it down.

“Archie. The choices you make now, son, they’ll follow you for the rest of your life. Would it be _that_ hard to sit down with that guy from Dartmouth and listen to what he has to say?”

“Why would I do that?” Archie feels his neck and face going warmer. “‘Cause I remember sitting down with you guys and trying to talk about music, which is something I actually _really_ love doing, and you guys just shut me out like I hadn’t said anything.”

“We heard you, Arch. But what your mom said— she’s right. You’re seventeen, and sometimes we’re big on dreams at that age, but a _hobby_ isn’t meant to be a profession.”

His words are almost a damn reprise of what Mary said, and it bothers Archie to no end, the way his parents always seem to agree and communicate _about this_ , but couldn’t ever have a conversation about anything else.

“Well, I’m sorry to be a disappointment,” he blurts out, bitter, his heart beating at the base of his throat.

“This is _not_ what I’m saying, and you kn—”

“No, Dad, this isn’t what _you’re_ saying. This is what _she’s_ saying. I wish you’d know the difference sometimes,” Archie says, sharply. There’s silence for a few seconds. “I’ll be back in Brooklyn on Monday,” he hangs up before Fred has a chance to say anything else.

He feels his heart beating a little more wildly after disconnecting the call, finally finding the courage to talk about his love of music only to feel like it’s some dirty secret. Blowing out a breath, Archie plops back down on the couch, eyes focused on the little end table beside him. There’s a lamp and an ashtray made of blown glass, surrounded by a few framed pictures scattered around the surface. One in particular catches his eye, lingering a bit longer on an old picture of Reggie with Veronica. She’s perched on his back, smiling while Reggie carries her through the street with her heels dangling in front of them.

Archie remembers taking that picture, remembers how it sounded when she laughed. He sighs, wishing things would just be normal between them again, wishing he could call her and just talk to her. Like he always used to.

If things were back to normal, he’d already be heading over to the Pembrooke to tell her everything, and wondering what she’d have to say on the matter, like he did numerous times when his parents were getting divorced, before Ollie’s Wedding, before it all. He had always counted on Veronica to pull him through anything, and he wishes he still could. He misses his friend.

Archie takes one more look at the picture and wonders what the hell is holding him back.

Veronica runs her hand over the satin of the long black skirt of her dress. It really is a dream come true. She’s a bit bummed that Kevin told her he wouldn’t be able to go since his mother would be in town this weekend, but she’s still very excited for this party like she hasn’t been in a while — everything seems to be going well with her friends now.

Her phone, that’s between her unmade sheets, vibrates. It takes her a moment to find it, and she smiles when she sees a new notification from Betty.

**_plan is in motion. see you tonight! x_ **

Veronica beams and answers her message with a bunch of party-hats and pumpkin emojis. Both messages are deleted by Betty immediately after, and Veronica lifts her eyebrows. Her best friend has always been the sneakiest of them all when she wanted to be.

A knock on her door gets her attention, and she turns around to see her mom walking in, already dressed for the day. “Buenos dias, mija,” Hermione says. Her face lights up when she sees the dress. “ _Oh, my God,_ this is perfection.”

“ _I know!_ Do you think I should have my nails black? Or pearlescent, like the mask?” Veronica gets the mask from her nightstand, briefly placing it on her face.

“Oh, black, no doubt.” Hermione reaches out a hand and pulls Veronica’s hair partially out of her face. “A half updo, maybe some loose curls?”

Veronica turns around to check her mom’s idea in the full-length mirror. “Okay, I guess that’ll work.” She lowers the mask, smiling. Hermione smiles too and gives her a kiss on the side of her head. “You’re looking good, mom,” she notices through the reflection. Hermione seems less tense than she’s been ever since Veronica got back from New Hampshire, like something in the treatment had _clicked_. “Are you doing anything today?”

“I’m heading out for a brunch-meeting and then checking a new art gallery on the West Side,” Hermione touches the dress too, probably marvelled by the lace bodice. Her hand slides along the satin bow that holds the train of the dress together.

It’s been a while since her mom’s frequented art galleries, which used to be a passion for her. It makes Veronica stupidly happy. “That’s great, Mom. Is there a hot date escorting you?” she teases.

Hermione scoffs. “Oh, please. Who would I be dating?” she shakes her head and starts walking out of Veronica's room. “ _You_ be careful, young lady. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here. Have fun!” Veronica blows her mother a kiss and glances at the clock on the wall. She still has about an hour before leaving to meet Cheryl for lunch followed by their nail and wax appointments at Chez Salon.

Veronica hears the front door shut while she finishes packing her bag, complete with jewelry and perfume that she’ll take with her to get ready at Thornhill. She plucks a pair of Jimmy Choos from her shoe rack, the ones encrusted with pearls that’ll look hot with her dress, pleased with the final touches. She makes her way into the kitchen, decidedly needing to hydrate before the night’s festivities. There’s a soft knock on the door, making her laugh at the thought of her mom already turning back from forgetting something.

Veronica opens the door with an easy laugh and her robe billowing around her, expecting to meet Hermione. Instead—

“ _Archie?_ ”

It _is_ him, dressed like he was just about to go running, his hair one red mess, cheeks flushed. Veronica feels frozen as he stands in the hallway, rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” she can’t help but ask.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Ronnie. You…” His eyes wander down and she realizes her robe is open, showing the set of short pajamas underneath. Normally, she wouldn’t mind but, somehow, it makes her shy. She cinches the silk, tying it securely around her waist. “Um, do you have a minute?”

Her heart clenches a little when she sees the worry etched on his face, a bizarre sense of _déjà vu_ taking over when he’s showing up at her door like this, like he’s done before. It’s weird, but it’s _Archie_. They were friends, once. Best of friends, even. “Sure. Come in,” she tells him.

Veronica’s heart beats a little faster when she holds the door open, feeling him breeze by her in the small confines of the foyer’s alcove.

“It just sucks that I finally told them what I love doing, you know, and they’re downplaying it like it doesn’t mean anything,” Archie says, heaving out a breath. He laughs a little humorlessly, telling her he’s staying at Reggie’s for the weekend while he gets some space from his parents. His chest feels lighter after telling Veronica everything that has been on his mind ever since dinner on Thursday.

It’s strange to be sitting next to her with a solid foot of distance between them. It’s strange that he hasn’t managed to look into her eyes for too long yet. Last time they’ve _really_ spoken was that horrible argument during the Kiss on the Lips party, and Archie knows there’s so much between them that remains unsaid but, at the same time, it’s a big relief to feel the safest around someone again.

Even if she did break his heart.

“You can’t expect them to just accept it, Archie,” she says in a soft voice. “I mean, _yes,_ I know they _should_ and that they should always vouch for us to be happy, but I guess it’s just… They’re humans, too, and they don’t do well with broken expectations. I think it must be complicated when you realize that your children aren’t… _yours_. You know?”

Archie nods, slowly, because what she’s saying does make sense. He knows, rationally, that maybe he _did_ overreact a little. “It’s just… so… _frustrating_.” He glances at her. She has a soft crease between her eyebrows, the way she always did while listening to him. Archie glances away again. “I don’t think my father would be so against this music thing if he wasn’t always trying to please my mom, to be on good terms with her. It’s like he agrees with her about me because I’m the only thing they still have in common and he… holds on for dear life, even if it hurts me.”

“Look. All you can do for now is… Do this for _yourself_. Not for them. Yes, it sucks that they’re not supporting you, but you have to push through and show them that you’re serious about it. That this is what you want to do, and that this is what you’re _going_ to do,” she says in such a firm, determined voice, that Archie ends up glancing at her again. There’s a curl on the corner of her lips, _so_ small that it’s barely there. His heart ends up beating a little faster, despite himself. “Your dad is still healing from this. When the time is right, he’ll be okay, and he’ll listen to you. But you have to keep telling him. You have to tell people how you feel a thousand times for them to really listen.”

Archie sighs deeply and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. There’s a moment of quietness when he’s processing her words, looking at his hands curled on his lap, his right knee lightly bouncing with anxiety.

“Hey,” Veronica suddenly places a hand on his knee, making him stop moving it, “it’s going to be ok.”

Her fingers move soothingly, offering a sincere form of comfort but Archie just stares at the contact, dumbfounded. It’s probably pure instinct since he hasn’t touched her in over a year, but he drops his hand to lay over hers, lifting his eyes again. He curls his fingers to flip her hand over in his, playing with her fingers before slowly weaving his with hers.

Veronica exhales with the slightest shudder, forcing his attention away from her eyes to her lips, lingering for a moment while his own breath starts to hitch. It feels like a dream that one time they were _actually_ together, on a different couch, a lot closer than this. The air around them is so heavy, so still, that the slightest blink of her thick eyelashes snaps him out of it. She pulls her hand away, with her own eyes glued to his mouth and mumbles something about _needing to meet Cheryl_ with the faintest shade of pink bathing her cheeks.

Veronica stands up suddenly, so he does the same, rubbing his prickling hand on his pants first. She’s so tiny compared to him. Especially without her heels.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking that.

“So,” she starts while tucking a lock of shiny hair behind her ear. “Are you going to the ball, tonight?” Veronica asks with her lip between her teeth, opening the door for him. He doesn’t want to leave.

“Reggie says I have no choice,” he jokes, watching her laugh along. It lasts a moment too long before it gets awkward again. “Thank you, Ronnie,” he says more seriously, although one corner of his lips pulls up. “Thank you for listening.”

He can see that she’s nervous, but she still tries to smile at him like she isn’t, and Archie is grateful. “Yeah. Always,” she promises. It’s crazy how, after everything that’s happened, he believes her. “Now, get outta here. I need to get ready. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, gathering all his will power to leave, quickly glancing at her before going out the door.

Veronica closes the door immediately as he turns around, and Archie has to stop for a second. He closes his hand on the side of his body, still feeling her touch on it.

Maybe his heart _isn’t_ broken, he thinks, because if it was, there’s no way it would be beating so fast right now.

Jughead wipes down the counter at The Blend when catching sight of the time. _Shit_ , he’s going to be late. He hastily unties his apron and chucks it at his co-worker, Fangs, who was not expecting it and drops it to the floor. “I’m leaving a little early. Cover for me?”

Fangs chuckles and teases him. “Mmmm, he has plans now.”

Jughead makes a face. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought.”

 _Who would’ve thought_ is the exact phrase for the _plans_ he has this Saturday evening. He pulls out his phone and follows Park Avenue to the address Betty sent him for his first task: picking up her dress at _Thornhill_.

It’s quarter after six when he arrives in the building’s lobby, watching as a doorman approaches him with a tired expression. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”

Jughead shifts his weight and looks back to the exchange of messages for reference. “I’m here to pick up a dress for Betty Cooper. At the request of Cheryl Blossom.” The phrase itself sounds absurd, and Jughead is almost waiting for the doorman to start laughing, but he just asks for identification and written consent from Ms. Blossom herself. Jughead would prefer not to face the redheaded girl outside of school if at all possible. He overhears the man behind the desk calling the Blossom’s _butler_ while shooting a text to Betty, explaining the complication.

He’s greeted by a bald man in an impeccable dark suit, clearing his throat and eyeing Jughead. “You’re here to pick something up from Miss Cheryl? Unfortunately she’s out right now,” he explains.

Jughead doesn’t exactly _want_ to be running such an errand but he _did_ offer to help.

When he’s about to fight him on it, being a favor and all, his phone lights up in his hand. It’s Betty.

“Jug? Is Jeeves there?” Jughead coughs out _I think so_ while reading the man’s bronze name tag _._ She laughs over the line. “Put him on, please.”

He watches in awe as the butler’s expression turns soft when he takes Jughead’s offered phone and listens to Betty. “Very well.” He hands it back to Jughead and says he’ll be right back.

Ten minutes later he’s heading in the direction of Betty’s townhouse with a big garment bag slung over his shoulder.

“ _Pssst._ _PSST_!” He hears hissing above him, chuckling at the sight of Betty Cooper’s blonde ponytail hanging out an upstairs window. She points to a few bushes behind a Honey Locust tree and soundlessly tells him to _hide it there!_

He shakes his head at the girl, doing as he’s told and taking the concrete steps two a time as he stands face-to-face with her front door, extending a finger to press the buzzer. An older version of Betty, dressed in the same shades of blue, comes to open it and looks at him with a look mixed with disgust and expectancy.

“Can I help you?” She asks pointedly.

“Uh— I’m Jughead. Jones. I work with Betty at The Register,” he offers.

Before she can say anything else, Betty thankfully barrels into the foyer behind her mother, meeting Jughead’s gaze with a smile. She’s wearing something quite chaste: a sweater over a shirt and nice jeans, her backpack on her shoulder. “Hey, Jug,” she greets. “Mom, this is…”

“ _Jughead_ Jones who works with you at The Register,” Mrs. Cooper says with narrowed blue eyes. “May I ask what Mr. Jones is doing here on a Saturday night while you’re grounded?” She lets her eyes drop down Jughead’s figure, and he feels a little exposed. _Fuck_ , he’s still wearing his barista uniform.

“Mom, I know I didn’t tell you about it before, but I was hoping you’d let me work with Jughead for a bit, tonight.” Betty says with the purest look on her face. It reminds him of when Archie met his dad the other day and FP spent three hours saying _what a nice boy!_ Jughead is surprised her mother doesn’t just let her do what she asked for right away.

Mrs. Cooper eyes him, inquiring.

“Yeah, Mrs. Cooper, I really need Betty’s help with this task… You see, our headmasters want to expand this month’s edition into something outside of just academics and explore the community, and we spent the whole week trying to find a good contact to interview… And we finally got the Literacy Partners to talk to us, but they can only do it tonight,” he says, not believing in his own bullshit, but Betty seems to be approving when he glances at her over her mom’s shoulder. “I’d gladly do it alone but I’m no real interviewer, I’m horrible with people… Betty would do such a better job at this than me.”

“Jughead’s our new photographer,” Betty explains when her mother glances at her. “And you know that Spence-Stonewall has been trying to work with Literacy Partners for years now. It would be great if the paper had this breakthrough.”

There’s a moment of silence when Mrs. Cooper seems to be chewing something that doesn’t taste really good, but then she takes another glance at Betty, who has her hands joined in pleading, and ends up sighing. “Okay. You can go. But I _will_ know if you’re lying, Elizabeth.”

“Thanks mom, you’re the best.” Betty claps and gives her mom a kiss on the cheek, which seems to soften Mrs. Cooper's expression a little.

Betty waits until waving from the street and hearing the door slam from the landing before scurrying into the makeshift garden and securing the bag he’d stashed a few moments prior.

“How would she find out that you’re lying?” Jughead asks. They’re walking side-by-side approaching the crosswalk on 86th Street, and he plans to veer off to the subway entrance.

“She reads the Blue and Gold, but I’m onto that. Ok,” she says, stopping to walk suddenly. “This looks like a secure spot. Cover for me?” Betty asks, and disappears into a sealed entrance in an alley that Jughead didn’t see was there.

He’s confused and panicky when he hears the garment bag unzip behind him. “Are you changing _in here?”_

She laughs behind him as though it were obvious. “Well I can’t exactly change _out there_ , can I?”

Jughead supposes she’s right even though the whole thing is a bit idiotic, feeling a little protective of the girl behind him changing essentially in the city streets. He keeps his eyes peeled for any onlookers or passerbys, making sure she has total privacy. He really hopes no one comes around, though — he _wouldn’t_ be able to punch anyone if it came to it.

His neck feels hot even thinking about it. “Please, be quick,” he says.

After what feels like forever, he feels a hand on his shoulder blade, garnering his attention fully. “Can you please zip me up?”

He turns slightly and is met with Betty’s back, seeing the start of the dress’s zipper a little farther down. He hasn’t seen a girl _so naked_ before — not right in front of him, anyway — and it’s a little startling, even though there’s nothing to see, really.

It’s just skin.

“Sure,” he stutters a little.

Betty toys with the butterfly mask in her hand but he’s unable to focus on anything other than completing this last task without any embarrassment on his part, trying to be a gentleman in such a situation and not paying much attention. Instead he focuses on his growling stomach, planning to order two burgers from Pop’s and a chocolate shake.

“Thanks,” she breathes out. Jughead ends up doing the same, feeling somewhat relieved that she’s finally dressed again. “Okay, I’ll do my makeup in five minutes. But first, I need to send a message to the Blue and Gold.”

Jughead frowns. Betty goes back into the alley and Jughead ends up following, curiosity picking up. “What do you mean, sending a message to the Blue and Gold? Do you know who they are?”

“No,” she says, retrieving her phone from her backpack. “But _whoever_ they are, they help us out when we need it,” she starts typing. “ _Please, I need my mother to think I was spotted at the community center with the Literacy Partners board,”_ she recites as she goes. Her phone makes a _whoosh_ sound.

“So not all clues they get are real?”

Betty shrugs. “Probably not. Okay, makeup,” she starts searching through her backpack again. “Oh, and here, I got this for you in case you couldn’t find one in short notice,” she hands him a zorro-like mask.

“Uh.” He stares at the thing without a clue. “What for?”

Betty, who’s holding up a mirror and applying something to her eyelashes at light speed, merely wrinkles her forehead. “You’re going with me, right? You’re dressed up and all.”

“I’m—” he looks down at his outfit: black shirt and pants paired with his black loafers. “Betty, this is my barista uniform. And I’m hungry. And I don’t have an invite,” he half-complains.

“None of those things are going to be a problem as long as you put your mask on. C’mon.” She laughs and motions for him to follow. “Don’t forget this party is well-catered and that I know people.”

* * *

**_spotted: #bettycooper_ ** _at the community center with the literary partners board. too bad you’re going to miss the masquerade party tonight, b, but someone needs to work._

_lucky for us, we won’t be working. unlucky for you peasants, no phones allowed in the union club tonight. enjoy your stale trick-or-treating while we take a vow of silence._

* * *

Veronica stands next to Cheryl overlooking the entrance. She feels gorgeous in her new dress. The girls spent the afternoon being pampered, which was a good distraction from what happened before lunch. Veronica listened to Hermione and had her hair curled and teased, weaving the mask in seamlessly to the half-up style. The hired makeup artist applied dark shadow along her lids and a few swipes of Veronica’s own tube of Nars’ Scarlet Empress.

Their day of beauty rituals paid off with the approval from Cheryl, who said Veronica looked _gorgeous as always._ And, of course, Cheryl also looks like a vision in her metallic dress with her red curls perfectly pinned to the side.

Veronica watches amusedly as the redhead exchanges glances with St. Bernard’s queen across the expansive hall. She laughs as Donna Sweett smiles dangerously in their direction, making Cheryl scoff _._

“Is she what? Pretending you don’t know who she is?” Veronica asks, taking a sip of her champagne. “Or that _she_ doesn’t know who _you_ are?”

“It’s just a wicked little game, I guess.” Cheryl bites her purple-painted lips.

“Well,” Veronica turns to Cheryl and fixes one of the red curls on top of her shoulder. “If you were playing against me, I wouldn’t want you to go down without a fight.”

Cheryl smirks, one of her eyebrows lifting up — the one that her rose-golden mask doesn’t hide. “As long as you went down at some point.”

Veronica pretends to be shocked about the innuendo. She clinks their glasses together and gives her a gentle nudge towards Donna. “Don’t forget to report back.”

Cheryl struts across the marble floor as Veronica remains behind, standing alone and admiring the fresh black laquer on her nails. She waves to a nearby waiter for another drink. She spots a few familiar faces, difficult behind the masks, and intends to start mingling.

She doesn’t need to see beyond the mask when Reggie Mantle walks past the bouncer, his stature recognizable and his luscious black hair spilling over his forehead. She ignores the waiter who approaches her on the stairs and moves closer to her friend through the throngs of guests. But then, she freezes when seeing another recognizable head of hair right behind Reggie, flaming under the soft lighting as her mouth goes dry.

 _Archie_ , in a tailored tux, and a golden _phantom-_ esque mask covering only half of his face. The sateen of his lapels shine weakly under the lights and the collar of his white shirt is crisp against his neck. She imagines the smell of his aftershave lingering on his skin, watching as he adjusts the gleaming gold cufflinks, fidgeting with his hand.

 _Her_ hand, the one that he touched earlier, _burns_ and she has to open and close it a few times, the air escaping her lungs and creating a void in her chest. She tried to ignore the ghost feeling of his fingers on hers all day, but she can’t right now, not when he looks _so fucking handsome_ and a bunch of other sensations come rushing back — his voice hot on her ear, her bottom lip between his, the way he looked _that night_.

It’s pure instinct, but Veronica bolts in the opposite direction, head swiveling to find anywhere to seek shelter. She adjusts the satin bow of her mask and retreats to the wet bar located at the other end of the venue, blending in behind a group of partygoers. She probably needs something stronger than champagne, something that will burn more than his touch did. _Or perhaps some cold water._

Archie arrives at the party with Reggie, overwhelmed by the herd of people with masked faces. After a glass of scotch at the apartment and having his friend help him with his cufflinks, Archie felt marginally more excited about going. His attention is on high alert for _someone else_ who will be in attendance.

“What the fuck is _Jughead Jones_ doing here? Did you invite him?” Reggie slaps the back of his hand to Archie’s chest in question.

Archie whips his head around to where Reggie is pointing. “What? No.”

His friend scoffs beside him. “And he’s with Betty? Kind of shady, Andrews.”

It’s true. It’s _weird_ that Jughead is at this party, because his new friend always went on and on about how he didn’t like crowded environments, and it’s even weirder that he’s with Betty. She looks nice, kind of like a fairy with a mask full of butterflies, and they’re having a conversation that definitely seems very interesting to both of them.

Archie isn’t sure if he should feel jealous. Of Betty, since she’s his ex-girlfriend, or of Jughead, since he’s _his_ friend. But he doesn’t, not really.

“They’re working together at The Register, now.” He shrugs.

“Whatever you say, bro.” Reggie looks around the crowd as they walk further into the party. “Hey! There’s Veronica by the bar,” he says with a whistle. “ _Damn_.”

Archie’s ears perk up at that, head snapping to where she stands at the end of the bar, looking so fucking gorgeous in a black dress.

He follows Reggie and can’t help but run his eyes over her, drinking in the image before him. The closer they get, the more skin he sees, through the nude spaces in the lace bodice. He picks up on all the little details of her dress. His cheeks are burning when he sees the bare skin across her chest, remembering back to _that night_ when he kissed those beauty marks.

His hand _burns_ more than it did the entire day. It’s like Veronica branded him with fire across his fingertips and he wets his dry lips, wondering how he’ll _survive_ if he doesn’t talk to her again tonight.

He watches as Reggie leans in when they approach her, kissing her on the cheek with a _Hello, beautiful._

Archie can smell the heady cloud of perfume surrounding her, waiting for her to _look_ at him. “Hello, boys,” she greets. Her big eyes move up to Archie briefly before looking back down at her hands, black nails squeezing juice from a lime into the glass tumbler. “Talk to you later, Reg,” she smiles briefly at Reggie before turning around and leaving.

Cheryl has every intention of approaching Donna — at last, someone _worthy_ of her time — but decides against it when the girl realizes the move and looks away, laughing at something a boy from Stonewall, Bret Westin Wallis, whispers. Cheryl stands, then, placing her empty champagne glass on a passing tray and fetching another one, sipping it slowly and _waiting_. Veronica is right, after all: she shouldn’t let Donna go down without a fight.

Their back and forth glancing game only ceases when Donna touches Bret’s forearm briefly and comes closer to Cheryl, her big blue eyes sparkling under her silver mask. “It’s good to see you here, Blossom. And finally alone, too, since everywhere I look you’re accompanied by Veronica Lodge. Is it true that you’re sharing the throne at Spence, now?”

Cheryl smiles, that sweet, threatening way she’s inherited from her mother. “No. But it’s helpful to befriend a former queen and learn how to disregard the opinion of…” she reaches out a hand and touches the purple stones on Donna’s necklace, “ _unimportant_ people.”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Donna says, almost as if she’s offended. “I thought we were equals, _chérie_.”

“My kingdom is more valuable than yours, Sweett.” Cheryl keeps on touching Donna’s amethyst necklace. It’s nice to feel powerful over how her breath hitches — and well, St. Bernard’s isn’t Spence or Dalton. “But we can always work together.” She looks up. “How about we play a little game tonight?”

“I’d say strip poker, but I’m afraid I don’t have my cards,” Donna smirks. She has dimples, which is a nice trait, Cheryl thinks.

“How about _hide and seek_?” Cheryl lets her hand briefly go up to Donna’s face. “You hide, I’ll seek. If I find you, you’ll finally get to step inside Thornhill.”

“How will you find me? I don’t have any breadcrumbs.”

“You’ll find a way to leave me a trail.” Cheryl pulls the necklace ever so slightly. Donna keeps on smiling, and reaches behind her back to unclasp it, letting it fall in Cheryl’s hand. She steps back then, and removes one ring, leaving it on top of an ornate console table.

Cheryl takes another sip of her champagne and waits about thirty seconds until she follows.

Veronica spins around the dance floor again, twirling under Betty’s arm as they laugh freely to the music. It feels like old times to be having so much fun with her best friend. They look at each other with their linked hands and scream the lyrics of the song playing: _more than a woman! More than a woman to me!_

It fits just right.

Betty looks so beautiful, ethereal even, in her nude chiffon dress and natural makeup.

Veronica found Betty while trying to escape from Archie — who was, somehow, everywhere she turned. Veronica wasn’t sure if he was actively _following_ her around, or if it was just coincidence or her mind playing tricks on her, but she’s glad that, at least now, with Betty, he won’t come close.

Even if he _actually_ needed advice, it was _crazy_ to let him inside her house — _hotel room, whatever_ — this morning. She knows she shouldn’t have. But that’s the thing with Archie: for years, _everything_ that involves him ends up being a thing she shouldn’t have done, and it’s exhausting to teeter on the edge of her self-control every single time. She’s afraid of what could happen if that rubber band snapped.

So she was happy to have found Betty and to be reminded of everything she was trying to rebuild.

Betty pulls her hands towards the bar. It’s getting late now, a little past eleven, but Veronica stopped drinking long before that. They both get sparkling water, and Betty’s bottle makes a _pop_ when she opens it, making both girls giggle.

“Where is… _Jughead_?” Veronica tries. She wasn’t _officially_ introduced to Betty’s new Register partner yet, who apparently helped Betty out with the whole escape plan, but she _thinks_ it’s the same guy that’s been hanging out with Archie lately.

“I saw him by the cheese table, last.” Betty takes a sip from her water, quickly glancing down at the delicate jewelled watch around her wrist. Veronica knows she’s supposed to leave at midnight, feeling the clock tick.

Veronica sips from her water, too. Now that the music has transitioned into something slower and quieter, some thoughts come back to her mind. She should come clean about what happened earlier. Even if _nothing happened,_ just a harmless visit, but it’s best Betty hears it from her.

She’s going to do things differently this time, like she promised herself.

“Hey, B.” She starts, setting the bottle down on the granite. “I want to tell you, before there’s a BG blast or anything like that. Archie came by the Five Seasons earlier.” She breathes out. “Something is going on with his parents and I didn’t want you to think it was something mo—“

“V,” Betty interrupts her calmly, shaking her head. “It’s _ok_. I told you, I’m not…” Veronica watches as her green eyes turn, searching for the right words to use on the delicate subject. “You and Archie have been friends for so long. Of course he’s going to come to you about things like this again.”

“Ok.” Veronica bites her lip. She wonders if there’s always going to be a part of her that is afraid Betty doesn’t _mean it_. “I— I just wanted to be honest with you.”

“And I appreciate it.” Betty smiles softly and reaches out to smooth down a curl in Veronica’s hair. “But you should also be honest with _yourself_. Remember what I told you?”

Veronica nods. She _does_ remember the pinky-promise from last weekend, when Betty said it would be okay for her to find out _how_ she feels about Archie, but the truth is, maybe she _can’t_ find out how she feels. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

She holds Betty’s hand again, searching for reassurance. It’s good when Betty squeezes her hand back.

Still a little parched, Veronica takes another swig of her chilled water and works to lighten the mood again. “So, B.” She squares her shoulders seriously. “Why is his name _Jug-Head_ again?”

Betty bursts into laughter, making Veronica laugh, too. “I have no clue! But, I shall find out.”

Archie moves along the crowded corridor, people lingering near the terrace doors as they filter in and out to smoke. A few moments ago, he finally spotted Veronica walking alone, and he’s determined to talk to her.

Ever since he arrived with Reggie, she’s been actively avoiding him — dodging his gaze and excusing herself when he stood nearby for an extended moment. They’ve run in the same circle and have been friends for years, no matter what happened between them, it doesn’t change that. Veronica has never been skittish around him. She seemed fine when he talked to her earlier at the hotel, but he’s a little annoyed she’s giving him the breeze all of a sudden.

He tries not to lose his focus at the swing of her hips but he’s thrown off track when a hand curls around his shoulder.

“Hey, Archie.” He recognizes Jughead’s voice behind him, still walking forward with determination.

“Hey, Jug,” he shoots back, hoping he’ll join his pace and say whatever he needs to say.

“Hey. How’s it been back on the Upper East Side? Are you going back to Williamsb—”

Archie cuts him off. “On Monday, yeah,” he replies hurriedly. He’ll be happy to tell Jughead about why he stayed uptown these days and what’s the outcome, just _not now_.

“Cool. I spoke to Toni about the open mic thing like you asked me to. She said that she’ll try to find you a slot but maybe that’s only in a couple of weeks, is that ok?”

He can’t really pay attention to Jughead’s words. He’s scared to lose Veronica from his sight. “Sounds great. Listen, I—”

“Also… I don’t know, I just feel like I should tell you this. I’m here with Betty but I’m not here _with_ Betty. I mean, she isn’t my date or—”

“Oh.” Archie stops for a second. Apart from when Reggie said something about it earlier on, this hasn’t even crossed his mind. “That’s fine, Jug. Truly.”

“— I wouldn’t do that since we’re friends now. Not that _she_ would want me as her date, anyway.”

Archie places both his hands on Jughead’s shoulders to halt his friend. He _is_ curious on how Jughead ended up at a _mask ball_ , but he _needs_ to wrap this up. “Honestly, no problem at all,” he says sincerely. “I gotta go.”

Archie leaves Jughead behind and walks into the same hallway as Veronica, finally catching up to her. She sure moves fast for someone so tiny.

Close enough now to distinctly make out the clicking of her heels against the floor, Archie wonders about the best approach when she tosses her hair and pushes open the door leading to the ladies room.

_God dammit, Jughead._

After Veronica excused herself to the powder room, and Jughead disappeared from his post at the cheese table, Betty finds herself alone at the bar asking for another water. There is no way she’d be foolish enough to drink tonight and jeopardize her plan — plus, she needs to be home soon.

She feels a warm hand at the small of her back, now something familiar in the form of Reggie Mantle.

“Heard we made out the other day,” he smirks above her.

It makes Betty chuckle. She’s always been against his _go with the flow_ outlook on life, but she’s also kind of envious of it, too. “Well, apparently we didn’t. But I suppose I’m flattered that you tried.” She can’t help but blush when he sports a playful pout.

“So,” he starts with a smile that makes his eyes smaller. “Where’s your date?”

Betty is taken aback by the word. _Date._ She doesn’t think this is a date with Jughead — more like a miscommunication that turned into a _you know what, there’s free food_. “He’s not my date,” she says. “How about yours?” She wonders who he came with, knowing Veronica came with Cheryl.

He pretends to look around worriedly before meeting her gaze again. “ _Eh._ Archie’s around here somewhere.”

It makes her laugh for real, causing a victorious grin to break out on Reggie’s face.

“Since we’re both alone at the moment, how about a dance, Coop?” He extends a hand and she looks at it suspiciously, again feeling a little heat rising to her cheeks. “No making out, I swear.”

She hums before taking his hand. “I _do_ love this song.”

“That makes two of us.” Reggie pulls her to the dance floor, immediately spinning her around. Betty can't help but feel giddy.

He paces in the hallway, waiting for her. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Soon it will be midnight and the masks will fall, so Archie takes his off already, not caring too much. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the strands a little hardened given the _hair gel_ Reggie made him use, and blows out a breath. He just wants to _talk_ to Veronica. To understand how they can walk back to wherever they were before they weren’t.

The hallway is so quiet around him, he can _hear_ the door swing open, when a wide-set of brown eyes meet his. He studies her so closely, picking up on the way her chest heaves just slightly while looking him over. _This_ is the proper moment for him to say what he’s wanted to say, instead he just stands there, words on the tip of his tongue.

“Archie,” her eyes start flitting wildly in the small confines of the hallway.

There’s a noise sounding like a group of people stampeding towards the private bathrooms, but all Archie can hear is the blood rushing to his ears as they stand facing each other. Especially when she’s looking this beautiful.

Veronica grabs his arm firmly, pushing him through a cold door and shutting it quickly behind her.

“Ro—” She shuts him up with narrowed eyes.

“We can’t be seen like this, Archie,” she breathes out, rubbing her bare arms in the cold stairwell.

“Why not?” he asks, exasperated.

“It’ll just look like we’re sneaking around.”

“You couldn’t be seen around me _in there_ either, in the middle of the party. Why are you doing this?”

She looks over his face for a moment and he takes the time to look into her eyes, strikingly dark against the pearl detailing of her mask. He watches as Veronica opens her mouth, maybe to say something, before she turns to open the door.

Archie refuses to stand here as she leaves him _again_ , and gently reaches out to curl his fingers around the crook of her elbow, feeling the softness of her skin under his touch. “Ronnie. _Please_ ,” his voice sounds small but firm. Veronica turns around and he can see the way her throat moves when she swallows. “Stop running away from me.”

The words come out on their own but Archie is glad he’s said them. He won’t take them back.

There’s some shine in her eyes under the mask, and her voice is barely a whisper when she speaks, “Archie, I can’t…”

He shakes his head, his hand dropping from her because he knows he can’t _make_ her stay, so he lets go.

She doesn’t move. There’s a long moment of silence between them and she’s looking at him in a way he thinks — he _knows_ — he’s seen before. He gasps for air and for courage.

“This is killing me, Veronica. _You’re_ killing me. I’m trying to do the right thing, but—”

A split second later, his breath is knocked out of his lungs when her lips find his and everything freezes. The words he planned to say become an afterthought as he feels her lips pressing against his, so hard that it almost hurts.

When he finally finds his bearings, pulling her closer by the waist, she breaks the kiss and looks up at him with wild eyes. He tries to read them, to understand what _this_ means, but he decides that _fuck it_ , whatever it means, he wants it. He leans in to capture her lips with his again and she opens them immediately, the touch of their tongues pulling a whimper from the bottom of his throat, a sound that she mimics.

Pushing her back slightly against the wall, he moves his hips towards hers, lifting a hand to work its way into her raven locks. He dreamed about touching her hair again for _so long_. He nearly cries when she lets him cradle her face and feels a little frustrated when his hand meets the mask that’s still hiding her from him.

Archie backs down a little as his fingers find the satin bow placed amongst her curls to tug at it, untying and letting the mask fall slowly from her face. Veronica’s chest is rising and falling fast. He waits for her to say something, _anything_ , but she doesn’t. It looks like… It looks like she’s _waiting_.

He brings both hands up to cup her jaw and _really_ kisses her. He kisses right under her eyes and a little lower, just feeling the softness of her skin beneath his lips, just breathing her in, until their mouths find each other again. She clutches his shoulders with her fingertips and he presses her harder against the wall, aligning their bodies and swallowing the noises she starts making.

Archie didn’t think he’d hear those again. He thought they’d just be a memory, just _something_ that happened so fast and so long ago. The realization that they’re kissing again dawns on him slowly and he feels the need to be closer. He crouches down slightly to grab behind her thighs and hoists her up against the concrete, bringing their hips together. She bites his lower lip as a response to the newfound pressure. Her hands slide up his chest, curling over the collar of his shirt.

Veronica’s tongue is hot and insistent against his, making it hard for him to catch his breath. He situates the placement of his hands, sneaking one down to get a grasp on her ass. She’s covered by her sheer tights, but he groans at the curvy shape he has thought about for a year. Veronica parts her legs a little more so he can get closer and his body can fit better between them, the lacy slip under her open skirt hiking up.

He boosts her up a little, bringing her chest level with his face. All night he’s felt like this dress has been teasing him, putting all the beautiful parts of her body on display for him to admire.

His kisses down the column of her neck, tongue poking out along her clavicle. He vividly remembers these details up close, the way she tastes and smells. He feels like he’s stuck in one of the many dreams he’s had about this — kissing Veronica’s skin, biting her, licking her, making her moan softly.

Archie steadies her by the bottom in one hand, bringing the other up to the thin straps of her lingerie-like dress. He pulls them down slowly, dragging his fingers down her bare arm and feeling the way her breath changes against him. Goosebumps cover her golden skin. “Ronnie…” he murmurs, so mesmerized by her. He’s painfully hard too, all his blood flowing south, making him a bit lightheaded.

She takes his face in one of her hands and drags her fingers across his jaw until they’re at the nape of his neck. Veronica brings his face closer to hers and kisses him again, softly at first and then harder and deeper, teeth tugging sharply on his lower lip.

His thumb digs slightly into her ribs as he makes his way up the lace covering her torso. When his hand reaches the thin part covering the swell of her breast, he can’t help but squeeze her.

Veronica moans a little louder and he’s fueled by pure desire when his fingers move the bit of fabric to the side, mouth descending onto her bare breast. He has never forgotten how _beautiful_ she is. His hand focuses on the peak that’s still covered, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

He can barely take the noises she’s making above him, panting and sighing with little snippets of his name. Archie groans at the sensation of her nipple between his lips, lapping at it like his life depends on it. “Fuck, Ronnie,” he says with a raw voice, his free hand finding itself under her skirt again, tugging at the sheer barrier of her stockings. “I _need_ to touch you.”

Her hips buck against him at that, and they both groan at the friction being chased between their legs.

Veronica braces her hands on his shoulders and hops down from his hold. He's terrified she’s about to leave him — always wanting more — but her mouth is back on his as she moves to push _him_ against the wall.

“Ronnie,” he breathes again.

Veronica rises on her toes to suck at his neck, grazing with her teeth as she starts to unbutton his shirt. Her nails are sharp against his chest, a familiar sensation his body’s been aching for.

She snakes a hand down lower and starts palming him through his tightening pants. Archie throws his head back, trying to hold in a louder moan. He’s lost at the feel of her hand and her mouth on his neck, but it’s not enough. _He_ wants to be the one doing this — kissing her, memorizing the taste of her skin on his lips. His hand ached the whole day after touching hers and now he needs it to trail down her body and feel the way it curves and arches.

“Please,” he whispers, his fingers diving into the depths of her hair and gently tugging at her strands. She moans with her mouth on his jaw. “Let me do it.”

“Shh,” she hushes against his skin and Archie can’t _move_ when her lips trail upwards until reaching his earlobe. Veronica sucks on it before biting him, and then she’s opening his zipper with deft fingers. Her breath is _so_ warm when her whisper explodes into his ear. “Let _me_.”

His eyes cast down as she moves to her knees, watching her dark curls tumble down her back as she moves to take him in her hands. Archie’s heart slams against his chest with the vision — there’s still a part of him that can’t believe this is happening.

She strokes him softly and he helplessly twitches at her touch. He feels like this could end too quickly with her black nails wrapped around him. Her eyes are big when she traces her tongue along the underside of his erection. This is something she hadn’t done _that night_ and, _oh God_.

Archie fights to stifle his groans, weaving a hand into the curls at the crown of her head. His fingers press a little more firmly when she takes him in her mouth, swallowing him deeper. She moans around him and he shudders at the reverberations coming from her throat.

Her mouth is hot and wet around him, tongue moving to tease him at the tip. Archie briefly shuts his eyes as they roll back and can barely _think_ while she works her hands and mouth on him. Every move has him wanting more, as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. He wants to open his eyes again and _watch_ but he’s afraid that he’ll blow it if he does — his stomach is tight and the hands in her hair want to pull harder.

“Ronnie,” he ends up moaning a little louder than he wants to, but he doesn’t care. He’s not sure if he’s warning her or if it’s just _her name_ , because that’s what he always says anyway. That’s what he always wants to say.

She probably feels the way he’s about to lose it, because she rises from her knees with her eyes locked with his. He moans softly when she licks her hand and wraps it around him again, while she scratches at his abs with the other.

Veronica stands before him and pulls his shirt to the side, leaning in to circle one of his nipples with her tongue while still stroking him. She kisses and nibbles at his left pec, grazing her nose against his flaming skin, and lets out a soft sound.

He greedily pulls her closer, finally able to have his hands back on her and _kiss_ her, too far gone to think about anything but how much he needs her. She moves her hand at a new pace that matches the rhythm of her tongue against his.

Archie breaks the kiss as he comes so hard he can’t function, his teeth on her neck, muffling his moans as he calls out for her.

It takes him a few seconds to come down — enough time for her to put him back inside his pants and zip him up, cleaning her hand on his shirt because there’s no other way, and adjust her dress. Archie keeps panting with his face on the curve between her neck and her bare shoulder, and he starts kissing her lightly again, and again, up until he finds her lips one more time.

“I miss you so much,” he confesses when they stop kissing. She hides her face on his neck. Archie’s body feels mellow but his chest has never been so tight as she kisses him quickly and he holds her close in his arms. “I— I’ve never gotten over you,” he says close to her ear. “I can’t fight it, Ronnie, I—”

Veronica’s body shudders and she lets out a wet sound, like a sob. Archie stops talking, frowning, and then he feels it: the way she’s shaking, the way there’s some warm droplets trickling down his skin. She’s _crying_.

“Veronica,” he tries, sounding a little desperate, but she pulls back and wipes at her cheeks, not really looking at him. “Ronnie.”

“I’m sorry,” she says before turning around and leaving _so fast_ he’s not sure any of it even happened, or if he was just dreaming again.

It’s quite bizarre to witness how happy people can be with something so stupid — there’s a countdown right before midnight and when the clock strikes twelve, everyone cheers and drops their masks like they _really_ had no idea who they were even though they see each other every fucking day.

Jughead removes his mask and just watches as his drunk peers celebrate being exactly who they’ve always been. It’s something even between cringy and fascinating. Perhaps he’s tapped into some inspiration for his novel. In the end, the music was a bit tragic, but the whole thing was a nice experience: he got a lot of free food, Betty seemed to have fun with her friends, and no one recognized him.

No one _would_ , anyway, but he doesn’t care. It’s not like he’s going to start to actively hanging out with these people just because he somewhat likes two of them. Jughead is very aware that he doesn’t fit in a place like this. And, while he doesn’t think he’ll ever attend a similar event in his life, he hasn’t felt the urge to leave, either.

He reaches for another _petit-four_ when something _whooshes_ past him like a whirlwind. Jughead recognizes the girl in all black running from the ball like she’s about to turn into a pumpkin. And, where Veronica Lodge runs, drama _often_ seems to follow, so he turns his head in the direction from where she came.

 _Oh no_ , Jughead thinks when he sees Archie following behind — some buttons of his shirt opened, red hair a mess, desperate eyes — lightly jogging out from that hallway he last disappeared into. Archie looks down at a pearl mask in his hand and Jughead can _see_ his jaw clenching.

It doesn’t take a genius to solve _that_ equation.

“Hey,” a sweet voice calls him. It’s Betty, with her cheeks flushed and a smile that lights up her entire face. “I’m going to change. I should get going. Are you ready to go too or do you want to stay a little longer? They always say the real stuff happens after midnight,” she says, almost bashful.

Jughead scratches the back of his head. Over Betty’s shoulder, he doesn’t see Archie anymore. He remembers seeing Betty and Veronica dancing earlier. He feels like he’s just part of a secret that he didn’t want to know.

“Want me to guard the bathroom door while you change?” he asks, trying to shake his thoughts off. It’s supposed to be a joke, a reference to earlier in the alley, but he just understands how _strange_ it sounds after he says it. “I mean…”

To his surprise, Betty laughs. “Keep guarding the _petit-fours_. I’ll be back in five.”

Veronica walks into her suite and shuts the door behind her. The corset of her dress feels tight as she tries to breathe. Being careful not to make any noise — the suite is dark and her mother’s room’s door is shut, which means she’s already asleep — she strips out of her dress and unpins her hair. She doesn’t dare look at the mirror to see any traces of Archie on her skin.

She hurries into the shower and scrubs herself clean under the scalding water. It doesn’t take long until she’s hiding her tears beneath the cascade. Her heart races and then cracks again as she replays the most passionate moment she’s experienced in the last year. After Ollie’s wedding last fall, she couldn’t kiss anyone, anymore. Numerous boys and girls in New Hampshire had tried, but she didn’t let anyone touch her. The Monday after coming back to New York she thought that _maybe Reggie_ , but even _him_ she couldn’t bring herself to kiss.

Yet, with Archie again, she couldn’t control herself. The mere shine in his eyes was enough to get her out of her mind again. Feeling his heartbeat and hearing what she’d never let him say was too much.

She manages to stop crying after some minutes, regaining her breath little by little. She steps out of the shower and starts blow drying her hair. The ring on her pinky finger catches her eye and it only makes the hollow feeling in her chest worse. She promised things would be different this time — so why does she feel the same?

Veronica changes into a cashmere knit wrap and some black leggings before checking her phone. Tip-toeing across the sitting room, she pulls on her boots and toggles her cape to catch the Uber waiting downstairs.

It doesn’t take nearly long enough for her to get to Reggie's apartment. Veronica musters up all the courage she can to keep going. The elevator stops at his floor, prompting her to walk until she’s facing the familiar door.

Veronica takes a deep breath and lands three soft knocks against it. It’s pulled open a few moments later, a disheveled looking Archie meeting her from inside.

He, too, has changed into something more comfortable, a soft looking cotton hoodie and sweatpants. He looks surprised when he sees her, but not for long — there’s a flush across his freckled cheekbones, and his gaze goes down before it goes up again. She knows she’s hurt him, _again._ He doesn’t deserve this.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Archie makes no motion of letting her in and she’s somehow grateful for that. She _wants_ him to be angry at her. It’s easier if he is. He _should_ be.

“I promised to do things differently this time around and I didn’t.” She bites her lower lip. Archie has his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Yeah. You left me alone _again_ ,” he sounds very somber, and she can’t bring herself to look into his eyes right now. “I’m not stupid, Veronica. I can take a hint, but this… I can’t understand you.”

“That’s because I’m not telling you the truth.” She dares to look up at him. He’s waiting and she _hates_ how his eyes show more expectation than anger. “And the truth is… I miss you too, Archie. Like crazy. God, you don’t know how much,” she says. Archie’s arms drop and he parts his lips, but she can’t let him speak right now. “The entire year that I was gone… My heart ached for you. It still does. It’s aching right now,” she tries a sad smile as she feels her eyes welling again.

“Ronnie—”

“But look what we did to Betty. The cheating, the lies… I had to _run_ just so we wouldn’t keep doing it. This thing between us, it _terrifies_ me, Archie. We spent five minutes near each other today and we did it again. We’re just going to hurt people again. I can’t think straight. _You_ can’t think straight. We’re not like this, Archie. We’re not bad, selfish people.”

She watches as his mouth forms a thin line. He agrees with a solemn nod of his head, like Veronica knew he would. He _knows it_ too. She knows he does. His fingers pull on the hoodie’s string and Veronica knows he’s just trying to keep himself steady by focusing on something.

“Betty keeps telling me it’s okay, but it’s not, Archie.” Veronica dries a tear that rolls down her cheek. “We can’t be together. We’re not right.”

She’s prepared for him to turn around and shut the door in her face, but he gives her a smile, one that’s soft and a little sad, and lets go of his hoodie’s strings. He steps out of the apartment, too close to her, but she stands her ground, looking up at him.

“We’re right,” he says, cupping one of her cheeks with his hand, rubbing his thumb on the trace of her tears. “We’re just not _now_.”

They look into each other’s eyes for a long moment until Veronica nods too. _No more running away_ , she thinks as she tiptoes to kiss him very softly, trying to hold on to the memory of his lips on hers. Archie holds her arms, pressing his fingers into them, but then lets her go when she steps back.

Archie’s eyes are red-rimmed when she looks at him again. She sniffs and they both chuckle in that silly way they used to when they were younger and caught each other emotional over Disney movies, a stupid understanding. She turns around to leave, and she’s halfway through her second step — painfully aware that he’s watching her go — when something crosses her mind, making her look back at him again.

“Your music is incredible, Archiekins,” she says. Maybe one day she’ll be able to hear him play again. When it stops hurting. “Don’t give up on it.”

He smiles again, the same quiet, boyish smile that she fell in love with. “I won’t, Ronnie.”

Veronica takes a deep breath and continues her way back home.

_When it stops hurting._

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say. We hoped you enjoyed the masquerade and, especially, VARCHIE! Songs for this chapter below. Thank you for reading this and leaving your feedback. XOXO
> 
>   * Oceans - Seafret (song at the beginning)
>   * Glamourous - Fergie feat. Ludacris (cheronica / gay convention)
>   * Jezebel - Two Hours Traffic (bughead cuteness)
>   * Guess Who - Nekta, Parov Stelar Remix (cheryl and donna playing games)
>   * More than a Woman - Bee Gees (beronica dancing)
>   * I Wanna Dance with Somebody - Whitney Houston (beggie dancing)
>   * Set the Dark on Fire - Turin Brakes (varchie in the end)
> 



	6. #headandcutlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, whew. We're so sorry for the delay on posting this chapter (we were going so well with our schedule) but canon did shoot us all in the leg these past weeks and we had reached a point in this fic where we needed to address certain things, and it all became one big snowball of pain.
> 
> We cannot believe we managed to write 12k words lol, but we did it, mostly because in this universe we do not excuse or condone or support cheating even if the premise of the fic has to do with it. One of the most important things of our story is to redeem what happened between all three of them (Betty, Archie, and Veronica) and it's just so sad not to be sure that the canon writers will do the same.
> 
> That being said, there's some Betty and Archie in this chapter, but it's meant to be in friendship terms. Yes, we cannot believe we wrote them in the same scene with the clownery that's going on in canon, but you can rest assured that this relationship is dead here, for good. It will not come back to haunt you (it's not haunting this chapter either). They are childhood friends and these characters will grow up and by growing up we mean always acknowledging that whatever they had, it's in the past. We understand if you can't stomach BA interacting right now, but we are firm believers in the core four and we do not support this mess, so you'll be safe if you want to read the chapter.
> 
> There's also a **lot more** to this chapter than just that so we hope you can appreciate it. We're glad to have you around and we will not stop writing, because we have a lot of good stuff in store. 💋

**— can't get no love without sacrifice —**

_afternoon, upper east siders. @blueandgold here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of manhattan's elite. as the leaves start to fall and the temperatures begin to drop, we’re happy to report that our spiced chai tea remains piping hot._

**_spotted:_ ** _enjoying an afternoon stroll back from spence, queen **#cherylblossom** and former monarch **#veronicalodge** laughing about something **.** these two have been thick as thieves lately. that's probably because **#bettycooper** is all work and no play since the infamous blossom soirée. but we don't think they've been as tight as cheryl and **#donnasweett,** who's reportedly spending long afternoons in thornhill’s tower. any sources care to confirm? is **#chonna** a thing or just another royal fever dream?_

_meanwhile, unable to chase down the mysterious owner of the glass slipper left behind at the ball and with the end of soccer season, our golden boy has packed up his guitar and moved back to spend his nights and weekends across the bridge. that's just what we hear, though. it's not like we'd ever follow him down there._

* * *

After school, Archie tosses his backpack in the corner of his bedroom and pulls out his guitar to spend a little time working through his new song. He’s found a rhythm, adjusting back into his Brooklyn lifestyle, enjoying the empty loft while Fred wraps up at work when Archie can play his music without feeling any certain way about it.

With soccer over, Archie has two weeks of downtime before hockey season begins. He’s always loved the sport and the early mornings spent speeding over the ice. He and Reggie are co-captains this year, ready to take the team to the championship game by the end.

He’s also found a bit of — well, _a lot_ of inspiration since the masked ball. He’s pouring all of his emotions into the heartfelt lyrics filling his songbook, words that he would never be able to speak. It’s painful to know how Veronica really feels and not be able to _be with_ her, but it’s at least _something_ he can hold onto.

She asked him not to give up on music. He’s not giving up on _anything._

Archie looks at his phone when his fingers feel a little sore. _Shit_ , he thinks, noting he needs to leave soon to meet Jughead at Pop’s. He slips his phone in the pocket of his jeans and moves swiftly through the living room when his father opens the door, carrying a brown paper bag in his arms.

“Hey, bud. I grabbed some Chinese carryout.” Fred greets with a warm smile and shakes the bag he’s holding. Archie is still mad at his dad, but lately, he also feels slightly guilty for being mad.

“Sorry, dad,” he apologizes, although it sounds a bit flat. “I have plans.”

Fred offers a nod of understanding. “Beef broccoli is better cold, anyway.”

Archie purses his lips. He hates how things have been with his parents ever since the Dartmouth fiasco, but he still feels that he’s not the one who should be apologizing. Instead, he tries again to be heard. “I’ll be back later. I’m actually going to meet some friends to talk about the open-mic night I told you about.”

Fred heaves out a heavy sigh as he places the bag on the kitchen island. “Arch…”

“Whatever,” Archie says before Fred can carry on, a bitter taste on her mouth. If only his dad would stop and _listen_ to him. “I have to go.”

Ten minutes later, he enters the diner, welcoming the heating inside. A bell chimes to announce his arrival. There aren’t many people, only a couple of tables being used — Archie usually stops by later in the evening during the dinner rush, when everyone is already leaving work, so it’s kind of a shock to witness the calm atmosphere.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, previewing a text from Jughead. He’ll be leaving work soon and asks Archie to get him his regular so it’s ready when he arrives. Archie decides to sit on a barstool while he waits, and order something to drink.

The sun outside is already setting — earlier and earlier every day — and there are orange sun rays shining through the big windows, casting horizontal striped-shadows on the wall. Toni works behind the bar. She’s wearing some Leia Organa hairstyle, and her pink streaks look redder with the sunlight.

“Hey,” Archie says, coming closer to the counter and sitting on one of the stools. Toni has a book opened in front of her, apparently studying something. Jughead mentioned she’s a junior, attending a public high school nearby. He’s always wondered what that’d be like.

“How’s it going?” she asks, a bit distracted.

“It’s… Not, really,” Archie finds himself saying. Between Veronica telling him they weren’t _right_ and that they’d have to _wait_ — nothing changed, really. He’s _been_ waiting. He’d _keep_ waiting — and his _best friend,_ who has always been his father, not supporting him for the first time in his life, he’s not sure. “Have you ever felt like you’re not really living your life? Just… I don’t know. Like everything just stopped?”

“Damn, Red.” He looks up when he hears the teasing tone in Toni’s voice. She’s half-smiling at him now, amused. “Who hurt you?”

Archie ends up chuckling despite himself. “Sorry. Long story, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head.

She laughs, quietly, and then starts looking for something under the counter. He hears the door of a fridge opening. “Maybe it will cheer you up to know that the flyers for your big night this Thursday are ready. I shall bring them to Jughead sometime this week,” she says, placing a beer bottle in front of him.

Archie raises his eyebrows, overwhelmed by the kindness of these new friends in Brooklyn. “Thanks, again, Toni. I appreciate the help.”

“Any time.” She quickly opens the beer bottle and slides it a little closer to him. Archie frowns. “On the house. I won’t tell if you don’t.” She plucks the pencil from behind her ear and taps it along the vinyl top, smiling at him with her eyes traveling up and down before moving to greet the next customer.

His shift is nearing its end when he finishes plating a batch of warm chocolate croissants. He makes a note to take one for his journey home.

Betty Cooper sits at the end of the counter, typing away on her laptop and sipping on the vanilla decaf latte she ordered. He remembers the first time she added _decaf_ to her order and how his jaw dropped like she had just said the most offensive thing ever.

She’s been a regular presence at the coffee shop lately, claiming it’s a peaceful place for her to write, and _brighter than the Register’s dreary office._

And she loves the vanilla lattes. Her hair even smells faintly like them.

Today, Betty is writing a piece on Spence-Stonewall’s new relationship with the Literacy Partners, something he did not see coming. _At all._ She wowed him on the Wednesday following the masquerade ball, announcing she managed to land them a meeting and they were to interview the board on Thursday.

Jughead was half-impressed, half-shocked with her ability to turn her innocent lie into something real.

They interviewed the board, took some pictures, and received praise from the Headmaster and Headmistress of their schools. Since meeting Betty, Jughead has been doing well, collecting material for his portfolio to help his chances at college.

Fangs clasps a hand to his shoulder. It startles Jughead, and his dishtowel falls to the counter.

“So, if she really _isn’t_ your girlfriend, can I get her number?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, shaking him off and decidedly wiping the granite top a second time. “She’s seventeen, you moron,” he says quite crossly. Fangs just laughs and moves to make an americano.

Jughead sighs and glances at Betty. She hasn’t eaten anything since she got here, so he grabs a shortbread cookie from the bake case with steel tongs.

He walks over to where the blonde sits with her eyes fixated on the computer screen, hands moving up habitually to tighten her ponytail. It’s something he’s noticed she does when she’s really focused.

Setting the cookie before her, Jughead tries his best at a friendly joke. He really isn’t so good with people, but somehow Betty makes him feel comfortable. It’s easy, being around her — it’s kind of like being around Toni or Archie. “A little treat for happy hour. You look like you’ve been working hard on this article.”

Her sparkling eyes meet his in amusement, pink lips curling up in a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil my dinner, but since you offered.” She laughs and breaks off a piece. “And yes, I have.”

 _Shit_. It’s almost dinner time. “I gotta go,” he announces abruptly, untying his apron and looking around for his co-worker, who seems to have disappeared somewhere into the kitchen. “I’m meeting Archie for dinner.”

He doesn’t realize he maybe _shouldn’t_ have mentioned Archie’s name to the redhead’s _ex-girlfriend_ until that sweet smile of Betty’s drops a bit and her forehead wrinkles just slightly, eyes suddenly on the tabletop. The thing is, he never hung out with them _before_ they broke up. Everyone at school kind of knew that they had been a thing since forever, but Jughead was normally very withdrawn from all things social-life-at-school until recently.

“Where did that friendship come from, by the way? You and Archie.”

She doesn’t seem interrogative, just genuinely curious. She also doesn’t implode when saying his name, so there’s that.

Jughead bites his lip. He’s not even sure how to start — being friends with All-American Archie Andrews was really _not_ something he planned for his junior year. “I… I’m not sure,” he smiles a little. “We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, but he did me a huge favor and proved my opinion of him wrong,” he tells her truthfully.

Her green eyes twinkle a little, golden ponytail swinging when she moves her head. “That sounds like him.”

“Yeah. Then we found out I live only a couple of blocks away from his dad’s place, too,” he says and Betty smiles softly at that. “I don’t know, after he helped me with the Dartmouth guy, I’ve been trying to help him with his songwriting thing.”

Betty suddenly knits her eyebrows together. “Songwriting?”

Jughead doesn’t understand the face she’s making until it _hits_ him: nobody, supposedly, knew about Archie’s artistic vein. He feels his face heat up and feels a bit like a jerk, for a moment, but now he cannot _lie_. “Yeah. Something kinda new, I’m guessing.”

“Oh,” Betty bites her lip, her hand curling into a loose fist on the side of the laptop. She suddenly looks a little forlorn, and he’s not sure what to do. He’s tried not to think about the relationship the two used to have because it’s none of his business.

But he can’t help but think about the sad words Archie’s been singing ever since the masked ball. And he can’t _not_ feel for the girl in front of him, who all of a sudden looks like she’s lost all of her energy. “Yeah,” Betty says quietly. “I guess it’s something new,” and then, after one controlled deep breath, her smile is bigger again. “Probably important to him if he gave up on Dartmouth because of it, right?”

“Right,” Jughead agrees.

Then, he remembers Veronica Lodge’s black skirt billowing behind her as she ran away from the ball. He hates keeping this secret.

Jughead sees the wistful look in her eyes and he can’t help but blurt out the question he wonders from time to time. “Do you— do you miss him?” He asks a bit boldly, heart beating uncharacteristically quick when he watches her processing his words.

Betty looks at him thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side with a swing of her curled ponytail. “Archie and I… “ She starts and stops, shaking her head a little. “It’s just weird not seeing him or talking to him as much as I did.” She bites her lip a little, looking a bit happier. “I’m glad to know he’s got a friend like you.”

One of the perks of her parents deciding to spend another week _wherever_ in Northern Italy: the penthouse is just hers. She owns her castle and she can bring to it whoever she wants.

Cheryl’s tongue skirts along the seam of Donna’s lips, red nails reaching up to caress her pink cheek, trying to make her smile. She’s admittedly a sucker for the dimples on St. Bernard’s queen and even more for this game of push and pull they’ve been playing.

The two have been meeting up for secret rendezvous ever since they took off their masks, and dresses, after the ball. They spend a lot of time rolling around in Cheryl’s maple sleigh bed while teasing each other.

She hooks a leg over Donna’s hip, flipping them over and sliding a hand up her stocking-clad thigh. She sits back on the girl’s legs and tosses her red curls over her shoulder, about to lean down when her phone chirps from the nightstand.

She moves over to grab it, checking the message when Donna huffs in frustration beneath her. “Let me guess,” she starts. “ _Veronica_ needs you for something.”

It _is_ Veronica, texting to see if they’re still on for a shopping spree up Madison.

Donna keeps talking, while Cheryl rolls her eyes and locks her phone without answering just yet. Donna digs her fingernails into Cheryl’s thighs a _little_ too strongly. “You know, Blossom, one might think _you’re_ the minion with the way you’ve been at her beck and call lately.”

Cheryl snaps her head at the flushed brunette and shifts to sit on the bed, moving off Donna’s lap. “Thanks for the afternoon tryst, Sweett,” she says as she watches Donna sit up, her cheeks flushed and blouse open. “You’re dismissed now.” She waves a hand and slips on her red robe, snatching her phone and walking into the bathroom. “Please see yourself out.”

She shuts the door behind her, taking a deep, frustrated breath. A few seconds later, she hears another slam and knows that Donna left her room.

Cheryl remains in the bathroom, chewing on the inner part of her cheek. She’s annoyed at Donna’s insinuation. She’s always hinting what she really thinks: that Veronica _will_ , eventually, reclaim her crown.

Of course, Donna is just jealous. Cheryl knows that, rationally, and it was fun and cute the first two times, but now it has her clenching her jaw.

She scrolls up her chat with Veronica. She doesn’t mean to notice and hates herself for even _checking_ , but the past ten days, every timeVeronica texted her out of nowhere wanting to meet up and do something — shop, have coffee alongside that tragic gay kid, Kevin Keller, go to a bar, get her nails done, _everything_ — Cheryl never hesitated on saying yes.

She feels a bit dumb for worrying. Veronica is _her friend_. At least, it’s what Cheryl thinks they are, after getting closer again since the fallout at the Mixer. _Except,_ Veronica herself once told her, a long time ago, that _a queen doesn’t really need friends. She just needs people who admire her._

Clicking off her phone and leaving it on her sink, Cheryl decides she will _not_ give Donna Sweett the satisfaction of being right and doesn’t answer Veronica’s text. She can ask _Betty_ to escort her around Madison if she really needs _company_.

* * *

**_spotted: #donnasweett_ ** _exiting thornhill and looking extremely unsatisfied. st. barnard’s ruler may be wearing prada, but it looks like she’s getting nada._

* * *

Veronica watched as three little bubbles appeared and then disappeared in her chat with Cheryl before the redhead went radio silent nearly an hour ago. She was hoping to have a companion to find the perfect new wardrobe for her weekend away.

It’s almost Veronica’s seventeenth birthday. Being back in New York and in a good place with her friends, she thought she’d want a party, complete with glitter and loud music like always, but she doesn’t. Last year, her sixteen candles weren’t even lit — she spent her birthday alone in New Hampshire, barely a month after Ollie’s wedding, when tears would regularly line her eyes. And now, she feels like it’s still not right to celebrate in New York. She doesn’t feel right celebrating _herself._ After some consideration, her mother surprisingly suggested she fly to Palm Springs and spend it with Abuelita.

She didn’t want to leave Hermione alone, but her mother did seem a lot better, and time away in the sun sounded ideal. So, she jumped at the chance.

The truth is, even though her special day is approaching, Veronica has been feeling much more gloomy than usual. She stays in a lot, almost growing used to the hotel room. She often listens to a jazz playlist late at night while working on her homework.

It distracts her from other things. And most importantly, from _him_ , and all the things that wouldn’t happen with him.

She wonders if she could text Betty, but then remembers that her best friend is against a deadline writing something for the Register. It makes her kind of relieved — it’s been hard to face Betty after what happened the night of the masquerade — and she really hates that.

Decidedly not going out tonight, she pulls on a long, black cardigan and tugs it close to her body, padding out barefoot into the living room.

Hermione sits in front of the crackling fire, curled up at one end of the couch with a faux mink blanket draped across her legs. She’s got her glasses on with a book in hand, looking up to her daughter and smiling softly. “I was thinking about ordering something from room service for dinner. Want to join me?” She asks sincerely.

Veronica’s heart feels heavy, just nodding and craving the need for her mother’s comfort. She sinks into the plush sofa and bends to the side, nestling her head in Hermione’s lap.

She feels her moving, setting the book aside and running her nails through Veronica’s hair. Her heart doesn’t constrict as much, focusing on the way her breathing falls in sync to her mother’s ministrations.

“Mom?” She asks, sounding like a little kid again.

Hermione stops her hand, and sounds a little worried. “What is it, Mija?”

Veronica twists around and feels her mom wrap an arm securely around her, looking up into the familiar chocolate brown eyes. “Have you ever let go of someone you loved because the timing just wasn't right?"

She watches Hermione’s expression change into _something_ , eyes out of focus for only a moment before returning her attention back on Veronica.

“Yes,” her mother admits. Veronica thinks she’ll stop at that, and wonders if she should ask _who_ , but then Hermione goes on, “I think… That sometimes, love, as wonderful as it is, will bring you more pain than happiness. And that we all have to make sacrifices, sometimes. It’s part of growing up.”

Veronica swallows. _Sacrifice_ seems like the right word. As much as she’s tried to quiet her mind, it seems like this is her fate, to be thinking about Archie Andrews’ mouth and voice, and scent, every November. It hurts everywhere inside her.

"And then what?" she wonders aloud. Archie said it was a matter of _when_ , but she keeps thinking about the _ifs_.

Hermione smiles softly and starts caressing her hair again. "Then... you might just make your way back to each other when the timing _is_ right."

Betty adds a _dot_ to the document on her laptop, punctuating its final line. Her eyes are tired and she feels sleepy after all the working hours, but at least that’s done now. She saves the article on her pen drive and takes her phone to text Jughead and says she’ll be sending him a copy via email.

 ** _sounds good, boss,_** he answers quickly. Betty smiles to herself and is about to send said email when her phone vibrates again. **_take some time off now._**

She takes a deep breath. It’s been a couple of busy weeks — she sent a message to the Literacy Partners quite early in the morning after the masquerade, deciding to shoot her shot for no reason, and was quite surprised when they answered back with interest. Her mom seemed impressed when Headmistress Honey called to congratulate Betty on orchestrating the whole thing. Betty did feel guilty that it only happened because she wanted to construct a better lie, so she decided to dedicate herself a lot to the new edition.

 ** _the news never sleeps jug!!!_** she types. In a few seconds, he sends back the first emoji she’s ever seen him use: a skull.

It’s so in-character that it makes her laugh.

Jughead Jones has been a good addition to The Register, Betty thinks. Not only is he an excellent writer and a good photographer, but he’s also funny in a weird way, and seems to worry about details that even herself — the biggest worrier she knows — lets escape.

It’s been nice to spend long hours at The Blend writing and sometimes watching him work behind the counter and do a bunch of repetitive movements to make all sorts of coffee. The atmosphere, paired with the common coffee shop playlist in the background, is always surprisingly relaxing.

Her phone buzzes as she sets it back down in its place on her desk. At first, she thinks it’s just another swift reply from Jughead, but instead it’s a text from Veronica. **_hey, b! miss you!_**

Betty replies with a smile on her face, missing her best friend just as much. **_i miss you too, v!_**

They finally got to the good place they’d been working towards, but Betty and Veronica haven’t spent nearly as much time together as they did last month.

Betty has asked herself why — it was easy to blame the busy schedule of deadlines and meetings filling her planner. But she does feel like there’s something else there. Her birthday is coming this Saturday, but instead of celebrating, Veronica has decided to see her grandmother.

She hasn’t missed how sad Veronica seems lately. There’s a hollowness in her eyes and a reassuring smile that Betty picked up on long ago — it’s the same look she used to have in early mornings between parties, right after her father abandoned them. Like there is something missing.

Maybe it’s just hard adjusting back into her old life here in New York, and to deal with all that’s going on with her mom (although, apparently, things are going well in this department) or pressure from her father about Harvard.

It _has_ crossed Betty’s mind that Veronica could be sad about Archie.

There was a rumor circulating between the girls that her ex-boyfriend was spotted chasing after _someone_ at the end of the ball. Betty hasn’t checked because, when they broke up, she decided to take some time and hide his tag on the app. The whole thing is a little odd, though: Betty really thought that if he was to chase after someone, it would be Veronica.

Betty leaves her phone and goes back to her laptop. She should send Jughead the email.

However, when she opens the browser, she bites her lip and types Twitter’s address instead. She types the hashtag in the search bar and chews on her thumb while waiting for the blasts to load.

Some of them are very recent and boring — a picture of him and Reggie getting _pho_ on the Upper West Side, another one of them getting silver medals in the soccer championship. This one makes Betty smile because Reggie is kissing Archie’s head.

He’s been seen with his guitar all around and, more than once, scribbling something in a notebook. She thinks about what Jughead said yesterday at the cafe, about Archie helping _him_ with Dartmouth and the perhaps-new passion for songwriting. Archie has always been a little more artistic than he’d like to admit, liked to play covers early in the morning, but she never thought he’d be _creating_ something.

It makes her feel weird and, maybe guilty, that she didn’t know. That she never noticed, even though they’d been together for most of their lives. It’s one more sign of their doom she overlooked.

There’s also the source blast about Archie at the ball. The Cinderella reference gets her thinking. It’s a little ironic, the timing of it all. Betty, too, was to leave before midnight. Not because any spell would wear off but because Alice Cooper would have grounded her until New Years if she missed curfew. But, she knows it’s not about her.

It doesn’t seem to be about Veronica either.

She scrolls down the screen and finds more. Archie had a public fight with his mom inside the Ivy Mixer, something she didn’t witness while trapped in her stupid revenge fantasy. He was also at Reggie’s for an extended weekend and moved to his father’s across the bridge. Betty recognizes these traits. She knows what it means when Archie is acting out under pressure.

It’s not hard to connect the dots about what’s going on with him. The only missing piece is the mysterious girl, but that, ultimately, is not her problem anymore.

But maybe with everything else, she could be of help.

Betty reaches out for her phone again, opening the app she uses as a planner. She’s supposed to buy a gift for Veronica at some point before Friday and has marked possible windows with a yellow bullet, but she deletes the one for this afternoon. She wonders if this won’t make things worse for thirty seconds before switching to her contacts list, and calling a person she never thought she’d call again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Andrews? It’s Betty.”

Kevin and Veronica link arms, sipping from their fresh macchiatos as they walk Fifth Avenue in the direction of the MET steps. Veronica took her time getting ready this morning, wearing her patent leather heels paired with her favorite Wolford stockings. Hermione bought her a new navy tweed skirt from Chanel and a stunning sapphire lavallière to match. She clutches her blue coat closer as the winds of November surge against them.

“So,” Kevin prompts with a tilt of his head. He looks so traditional, dressing like a Kennedy with a smile just as charming. “Anything new in the department of your redheaded Ansel Elgort?”

Veronica chokes back a laugh at his boldness, though having a confidante like Kevin Keller is the outlet she’s been looking for. And truthfully, no, there isn’t anything new. All that’s left to do now is try to move on while holding on to the memories in a sacred spot in her heart. Her mom was right the other night, calling it a sacrifice.

“No,” she answers honestly.

Kevin pulls his gaze away from his phone to offer her a kind, but sad, smile.

She didn’t give him _all_ the details, just mentioned that she and Archie kissed at the masquerade and that it ended in tears. She felt safe telling him that — as much as she loved Betty’s support on the _don’t-ignore-your-feelings_ quest, this still could hurt her best friend. And, despite getting closer to Cheryl lately, she’d never trust her with such delicate matters.

But Kevin is caring and _so_ kind. He’s never given one reason for her not to trust him, being her cheerleader from the start. She’s so glad to have someone like him around.

They get to their spot on the steps, arriving before the girls. Settling in with their still steaming cups, Kevin’s phone goes into a fit of alerts flooded with all his incoming messages.

“Whoa, there,” she teases. “And who, may I ask, is the strapping suitor blowing up your notifications?”

He laughs, holding up a finger and sending off _one last text._ He meets her eyes with an amused expression as he pockets his phone. “I’m not sure about it yet, but when I _do_ you’ll be the first to know.”

She joins in his laughter, feeling slightly more lighthearted in his presence.

“Though, you know.” He takes a sip from his coffee. “There’s always been a part of me that wants to do something scandalous to become a hashtag on the Blue and Gold.”

They both laugh, and Veronica’s about to tell him it’s not all it’s cracked up to be when Cheryl and the girls make their way up the steps. She waves to the redhead, who is looking beautiful in a fitted yellow coat, complete with big buttons and bishop sleeves. The color contrast is gorgeous against her hair. Her black cashmere scarf is tied up in a bow, sitting perfectly atop the collar. Veronica notices the Balenciaga bag from the fall collection, one that she also has, linked chains hanging from the side.

“Hey, Cher! Hey, girls!”

Midge and Nancy wave back to Veronica with kind smiles while Tina and Ginger seem a little hesitant to be outwardly happy to see her.

The four other girls scatter along the steps and take their places, sipping on their own caffeinated beverages while unloading on the week’s gossip. Cheryl stands still, looking at Veronica with unamused, narrow eyes.

“Is something wrong, Cheryl?” Veronica asks.

“Veronica,” she laughs a little humorlessly. “I think you’ve forgotten, or have just become a little too comfortable during your homecoming, but you’re sitting on _my_ step.”

She supposes it is true, sitting on the last concrete step up before the landing, the step that seemed to belong to _her_ for so long. If anything, sitting here is out of habit but Cheryl’s sudden sense of entitlement quite frankly pisses her off.

Instead of situating herself down one step, her own eyes narrow, challenging Cheryl to fight her. “I’m not moving. _I_ don’t have to submit to you.”

She’s too focused on Cheryl’s expression to hear the gasp coming from Kevin, feeling the stare of all four minions waiting with their breath collectively held.

Cheryl raises one perfect eyebrow, pursing her lips as if she'd just tasted something _bitter_. “Very well,” she says. “Then you’re welcome to leave.”

Veronica clenches her jaw. She _really_ thought that these stupid catfights were behind them. “I don’t feel like leaving, though,” Veronica straightens her back and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “ _Girls,_ do you want me to get going?” she asks the _entourage_ , without breaking eye contact with Cheryl.

Four sets of eyes look back at her — receiving a quiet _no_ and a few headshakes in her peripheral. She watches the moment their gaze falls to Cheryl, surely threatening them with a look to remain silent.

She tosses her red hair over her shoulder and takes one _more_ step up to stand above Veronica, looking _down_ at her.

A booming voice interrupts the unnerving tension between the girls in the form of Reggie Mantle, jogging along the 82nd Street crosswalk. He takes the stairs two at a time and has no qualm sitting on the landing where Cheryl stands tapping her black Prada boots.

He nods to the girls sitting on the lower level, exchanges a friendly handshake with Kevin and leans down to kiss Veronica’s cheek. Cheryl rolls her eyes and sits next to him and mutters something about no one respecting _royal protocol_ anymore.

“Yeah, but Cheryl. Reggie _is_ a king,” Midge says. Reggie lifts both his eyebrows and steals a grape from Tina’s fruit cup. The girls all giggle, Kevin scoffs, and Veronica rolls her eyes in amusement.

Cheryl bites back something in response. Tina is the first to speak, changing the subject between them to their AP lit test coming soon. Veronica remains silent and sighs deeply. The back and forth made her energetic for a moment, but now that’s gone again.

Reggie probably notices, because he pulls her in a little closer to him. She rests a hand on his knee and her head on his shoulder — always feeling this overwhelming sense of comfort with him.

“You ok?” he asks her quietly, so no one else hears, as gentle as ever just stroking a thumb along her back.

She breathes in his familiar cologne and smiles meekly up at his kind, brown eyes. “Yeah, _king_.”

Reggie laughs against her hairline, planting a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

**_#spotted:_ ** _one former royal couple cuddling up on the cold steps of the met. while we’re always here for **#veggie** , can v at least let us catch our breath to keep up with her flavor of the week? _

_we can’t help but notice **#bettycooper** ’s absence, spending her time revamping an out of date paper no one cares about. we're wondering if she's making it up to her royal majesty with the gift of good press._

* * *

Archie sits by himself in the courtyard, the air a little colder as November moves on, buttoning his navy peacoat all the way up his neck. He stepped outside to get some fresh air — the gig is tomorrow, his songs honestly kind of suck no matter what Jughead said, and the heating inside the school was turned too high today. Plus, all morning he’s heard rumors and while he’s learned to tune out any of the gossip taking place around him, the topic was one he couldn’t avoid.

No matter how hard he’s tried.

He honestly thought that he’d be safe outside, but it looks like today just _isn’t it_. He manages to spend two minutes alone and breathing when a horde of girls wearing colorful jackets and matching headbands — part of Cheryl’s _entourage_ , or whatever — come outside to cross the patio towards the library. They’re all glued to their phones and whispering as if he isn’t _right there_.

_“Reggie? And Veronica? Again?”_

_“Are we really surprised though? Reggie is a full-course meal.”_

_“Ugh, thank goodness. That mess with Archie wasn’t it. Deceitful dog.”_

_“Yeah, I always shipped Veggie.”_

_“Boo. My money was on Varchie.”_

_“Why? He’s a cheater.”_

_“Hm, you’re right. You know what? Good for Veronica.”_

Archie lets out a self-deprecating laugh because as soon as they say all that, the girls pass him by. _Yes, I suck,_ he thinks, _message received_.

Still, he’s curious. He’s a firm believer in squashing the spread of gossip but right now, he _needs_ to know the source of all the babbling.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, with the girls finally out of sight, Archie quickly unlocks the screen with a swipe of his thumb and opens his browser to navigate Twitter.

His breathing starts to shorten while his heartbeat picks up the second he sees the picture. Veronica is leaning into Reggie’s embrace, hiding her face against his neck— something Archie can still feel her doing with his. They’re in public, surrounded by friends, which makes him even sadder.

It’s just so _out there._ It’s something he and Veronica won’t have any time soon. _If ever._

He reads a few replies (full of _“Veggie”_ supporters) but stops when it starts to really upset him. Hanging his head, he locks his phone, trying to focus on his concert, on his research paper, on _anything_ that isn’t related to what he just read.

“Arch. Hey,” a quiet, familiar voice greets him.

He lifts his gaze to meet Betty, standing at the other end of the stone table where he sits, adjusting a blue strap on her backpack. He’s surprised. They haven’t interacted _at all_ since the break, except for when he walked with Jughead to The Register’s office, one day. He stopped at the door but nodded at her in recognition.

At first, it was really weird, not talking to the girl he spent his entire life dating. But, as the weeks passed, Archie started to notice how much they _already_ didn’t speak. Very little had changed — he was checked out of their relationship for so long, but he realizes now that she was also.

His face warms up because he ultimately still feels a pang of guilt. “Betty… Hey.”

She looks around and shrugs off her bag, wringing her hands in front of her before sliding into one of the table’s four small benches. “I know this is weird, but I want to talk to you.”

Archie frowns. The first thing that crosses his mind is that this, _somehow_ , is about Veronica. He opens his mouth, ready to be defensive — _it’s not her fault. We were broken up. I went after her_ — but Betty shakes her head before he can think of saying anything, her cheeks turning pink.

“I— I heard that you’re planning to give up on Dartmouth,” she says, biting her lip nervously, and looking down.

“What?” Archie’s eyebrows shoot up. "How did you..."

Betty cuts him off, sitting forward just a little. “Your mom. I talked to her.”

“You talked to _my mom_?” He’s taken off guard before conversations and _fights_ make their way back into his mind. When Betty nods, still blushing, Archie’s jaw clenches. He wouldn’t put it past his mother, contacting his recently split _ex-girlfriend_ to have her talk some sense into him. _Of course._ “She’s upset with my decision and she sends _you_?”

 _Of all people_ , he almost completes but refrains himself.

“No. I sought her out, Archie,” she explains patiently. Archie knits his eyebrows together, even more confused than before. Betty squares her shoulders. “Jughead… kind of told me that you abandoned your usher position to help him, and that's how you two became friends. And, I mean, he's a great guy and he deserves it, but then I realized you put the future you planned out at risk and... I looked you up on the Blue and Gold.”

“ _Betty._ ”

She shrugs. “I was worried, okay? I put two-and-two together and went to your mother to see if I could... help.”

Archie sighs. He can’t _really_ be angry at her for meddling — she’s always been like this. He’s used to it. He still remembers when he was seven and hid that he was having a hard time reading, but she found out everything by herself _and_ talked the teacher into giving him extra lessons with another chance so he wouldn’t be held back.

“Why would you do this, Betty? The _whole point_ of everything is showing my mom that I'm serious, that I'm not going to be a lawyer, that I'm not going—”

“I know,” she nods. And then, a sincere and small smile comes to her lips. “You wanna write music. She told me.” Betty turns slightly to open her bag next to her on the bench. Archie watches her curiously. “However, I don’t think you should give up a proper education because you had a change of heart regarding your major.”

“ _Betty._ Dartmouth…” He breathes out, exasperated, only prompting her to hold up a finger while she rifles through the contents. Archie doesn’t understand where she’s going with all this.

“I know. _Dartmouth_ doesn’t have what you’re looking for in a school,” she says as she lays out a handful of brochures, each with a different university’s name printed on the front. “But, _these_ colleges do.”

He picks up one of the pamphlets and looks through the pictures. She selected a bunch of schools with quality music programs. Archie swallows whatever he had to say because it’s the first time someone actually shows him _options_.

“I know you’re talented. I’m sure that actually studying music would make you even better,” Betty says. He looks up at her, and there’s a small smile on her lips.

He offers her a small smile too. His heart swells with tenderness for his oldest, most dedicated friend. It means a lot to him that she still cares for him, even after everything he put her through. And, well, technically, there isn’t _one_ bad thing Mary Andrews could say about her son attending Berklee or USC, amongst other names in the brochures Betty selected.

“Thank you,” he says and means it.

She smiles a little bigger back at him, slinging the blue bag over her shoulder and standing to leave. “You know, Arch.” She looks down at him thoughtfully. “I'm… sorry I never noticed that this is what you wanted to do before now.”

“I'm sorry I never told you,” he tells her. It’s true. There were so many things he wanted to tell Betty but was too nervous of how she’d react, thinking it would be just like the way his mom had.

It’s funny how they just _stopped_ talking about things, at some point. As much as he thinks they’re better off without being in a relationship, he also thinks they got lost in translation at some point, growing apart while growing up, without even meaning to.

She doesn’t reply to that, but her eyes tell a lot, like they’ve always done. “I think… finding out new things about you just makes me realize that I have a lot to learn about myself, too,” she says. Archie feels the corner of his lips curling up. “Let me know if you need any help.”

Betty turns around to leave, but something crosses Archie’s mind. “Hey, wait,” he calls, making her look at him again.

He’s not really sure if what he’s about to do is something that _he should_ do, all things considered, but if she went through the trouble of going to talk to his mom, he might take a leap of faith in their friendship, too. Opening his backpack, he takes out one of the flyers that Jughead handed him the other day — the open mic night where he’s going to perform for the first time.

“I’m… _performing_ , I guess,” he hands her the flyer, “this Thursday. It’s in Brooklyn, but I don’t know. If you wanna check it out. Jug will be there.”

Betty creases her eyebrows as she reads. Archie knows that he’s going to sing one song he wrote and some covers, and he also knows that his original song is about Veronica, but with his dad not even wanting to hear about it, he could use some support. Betty is his friend, after all. She always will be.

“I have a lot going on this week, but we’ll see,” she gives him a sweet smile. “Bye Arch.”

Jughead shoves another handful of chips in his mouth. He’s sitting at his same old lunch table in the corner — though now, and for the majority of the past month, he’s got someone else eating with him.

Archie takes a swig of his juice. They were talking about his research paper, but he trails off as his eyes follow two people walking through the dining hall to a table near the windows.

He doesn’t need to swivel his head to look when Veronica Lodge walks by with Reggie Mantle following obediently behind her like a dog. They’ve been spotted in the Blue and Gold this morning, or something. Mantle throws a nod to Archie in greeting but otherwise keeps his focus forward. Archie’s falls in their wake.

Jughead can’t help but roll his eyes at the whole scene but, now, he’s not just watching from the outside anymore. He cares about Archie, and he ultimately feels bad for his friend.

The redheaded boy finally turns his gaze back to their table, poking at his food mindlessly.

“So…” Jughead starts. “Not to be _that_ guy but maybe it's time you... move on?” He suggests cautiously. Archie looks taken aback with his suggestion for some reason. Jughead feels a little nervous about initiating this conversation — since he has absolutely nothing to do with their drama — but, now, he has no choice but to touch on the subject. “I saw her… Kinda running away from you at the masquerade ball.”

He thinks he might’ve used the wrong words. But Archie shakes his head woefully, focusing on the discarded food in front of him. “It’s not like that. Veronica has feelings for me.”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. “Wh—”

“She told me.” Archie cuts him off with certainty.

Jughead regrets to be talking about this when he sees the sadness on Archie’s face. He normally isn’t one to be bothered by people’s emotions, other than Jellybean’s that is, but to see someone like Archie, who’s always so nice and friendly, this torn up, isn’t his favorite sight.

“We… kissed. At the ball,” Archie says, his ears turning red. “Even if we’re not together now, I don’t think it’s over yet, Jug.”

 _Oh_.

He isn’t sure how deep this whole thing is between them, just that it hurt Betty. From how Jughead’s reading him now, it might have been a little more serious than he thought— at least from Archie’s side since Veronica seems to be doing just fine.

He watches Archie take one more glance over at the pair sitting across the room, laughing and smiling like idiots. It starts to annoy him when he sees Archie’s forlorn face turn back around.

Jughead doesn’t really know what to say.

“Anyway,” Archie sighs. “In other news, I talked to… Betty earlier. She might come to the concert. I told her you’d be there.” Archie shrugs his shoulders.

_Betty?_

Jughead’s shoulders tense up for some reason. He shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortable. “I thought you and Betty—”

“Oh, yeah, but I mean. She’s always been my friend, too. It’d be nice if she came.”

There’s a weird feeling in Jughead’s chest. He mutters _sure, that’s cool, man_ , and reverts his attention back to his chips. He thinks about asking Betty about Archie just the other day, and the way her interest piqued, the way she asked questions. He knows that, theoretically, there’s nothing stopping Betty and Archie from being friendly with each other. Except that, from what Archie told him, she’d been really hurt with the first chapter of the _hashtag-Varchie_ story.

Jughead bites the inner part of his cheek. This is a recipe for disaster — what if Betty misinterprets Archie’s invitation? What if she ends up hurt again? Although she’s smart and probably more aware of the whole situation than Jughead will ever be, he can’t help but feel protective of her.

He glances at the table where Veronica is eating with Reggie, then back at Archie poking his food, and thinks of the girl who isn’t here. Taking a deep breath, he can only hope that whatever’s left between Archie and Betty really _is_ just friendship.

A little before the lunch period ends, Veronica scans the empty halls, eyes fixed on the last door on the left, the one that’s cracked open into the Register’s office. With both hands full, she uses the tip of her Louboutin to nudge it open wider and let herself in.

She smiles at Betty, who’s typing away and not even noticing her presence.

Veronica clears her throat and makes a grand gesture with the treats she comes bearing.

“V!” There’s a hint of sleepiness under her friend’s eyes but she offers a bright, Betty Cooper smile.

“I didn’t see you during lunch and figured you were locked in here working on your next story.” Veronica takes a seat in the chair across from the Editor’s desk and kinks an eyebrow. “Clearly, I was right.”

She sets down the tea for her friend, the best hot beverage she could do within school walls.

Betty gives her a shy, grateful smile. “Thank you.” She picks up the cup and curls her fingers around it with pink cheeks, as if being warmed instantly on the spot.

“If the only way I can see my bestie is by bringing you sustenance while you work, I’m happy to do it.” Veronica laughs and extends a hand to hold hers over a stack of scattered notes. “I’ve missed you, B.”

Betty laughs, too. “I know. But it _is_ ironic. Here I am working hard on spreading the news but we go two days without talking and I find out from my _competitor_ that you’re back with Reggie?”

Veronica giggles — she knows about the rumors circulating all morning, ever since she and Reggie sat together on the steps in a moment of comfort. Spending a little time with him turned out to be _exactly_ what she needed. Reggie was pretty good at reading the room and making her laugh, never asking questions about anything that could get her upset.

“Rest assured, it’s not what it looked like.” Veronica smiles at her sweetly.

The blonde ponytail swings as Betty tilts her head to the side inquisitively. “Well… Why not?” she inquiries. Veronica frowns a little. “I mean, you two have always been… _involved_.”

Veronica could list off a million reasons why not, but, in the end, there’s really only _one_.

Her mood shifts the air into something a little heavier, trying to reply with _something_ in the stillness around them. She wishes she could tell Betty anything about what’s _really_ going on inside of her ever since the masked ball, but she’s not sure if it would be a wise move.

“Don’t try to get the scoop on me, Betty Cooper,” Veronica decides to joke. “What are you writing about?”

“Just proof-reading some of Jughead’s work,” Betty answers, but there’s a glint in her eyes that shows Veronica she’s not giving up on _finding out._ Veronica takes a sip of her own tea just to occupy her lips with something other than talking.

However, instead of asking more questions, Betty purses her lips and reaches into the blue backpack sitting on the desk, pulling out a green flyer — the shade as bright as a highlighter.

“So I wanted to show you this,” Betty says, sliding it across the wood.

It says _OPEN MIC NIGHT at THE WYRM_. It appears to be a music venue in Brooklyn. Veronica looks up at Betty, confused of what it means, even though she _instantly_ knows what it means as soon as she looks into Betty’s eyes.

“Archie invited me to this. He’s performing there tomorrow night.”

Veronica’s heart beats wildly in her chest. She reads over the words again — though nothing on it says his name. She’s proud and bewildered all at once. Archie is _crazy_ talented. She always hoped that one day he would see in himself what she always has. She remembers how he promised he wouldn’t give up on his music, and knowing that he’s taking this big step makes her chest swell.

But there’s something in Betty’s eyes that betrays her and makes Veronica wonder _why_ she is even showing this to her.

“You knew, right? About his music?” Betty asks, quietly.

Veronica takes a deep breath. Back then, the secret about Archie’s music was something _between them_. Something he hadn’t told anyone else, the only thing that she didn’t have to share with Betty, the only _Archie_ thing that was _just hers_. “Yeah,” she sighs.

Betty nods and her throat moves when she swallows. There’s a lump in Veronica’s throat as well. “Why…” Betty starts after a long moment. “Why don’t _you_ go to his concert, V?”

“B,” Veronica bites her lip, “he invited _you_. Not me.”

It hurts a little to say that. She’s not sure _why_ Archie invited Betty — she didn’t even know they were speaking again. Maybe he realized he made a mistake with her. Maybe he wants his girlfriend back. Could be, too, that he just wants someone he trusts to be around since his parents are probably still not on board.

“I know, but I’m not going,” Betty says in a soft voice that matches her smile. “And something tells me that he’d feel safer if _you_ were there.” She winks.

Veronica feels her eyes starting to water. This week has been a rollercoaster and she’s _tired_ of being on the verge of tears ever since Halloween. She blinks back the rising emotions and folds the piece of paper, before stowing it away in her own bag. “Thank you,” she says, not certain of what else is there to say.

* * *

**_spotted: #bettycooper_ ** _and **#veronicalodge** having a heart-to-heart in a dusty office. we wonder if they are talking about the fact that **#barchie** was seen talking in the courtyard. ugh, we thought we had put that # to rest. listen now, we might be here for **#veggie’** s reported return, but not for b to get back with a. either way, you know none of these topics will be a feature in the register, so just keep on feeding on our scoop._

* * *

The Wyrm is filling up slowly as eight o’clock approaches. The venue isn't anywhere like Archie has been before — except that one time he ended up at a punk-rock party with Reggie, but he was so drunk he doesn’t even remember where that was, just has a faded memory of belting out to _Rage Against the Machine_ and throwing up on Reggie’s shoes.

However, even if it’s a weird scene, Archie feels comfortable with all the wood paneling surrounding him and the worn-out look of the wallpaper. The stage is set for him already — a stool, a microphone, and an amp. Toni, who also works as a waitress here, managed to give him a small shot of whiskey to _calm his nerves_.

He isn’t _really_ nervous, and it’s weird. It’s the first time he’s going to play for people that don’t know him, but somehow, that’s not twisting his insides. He _loves_ music. He feels confident in what he has to show. People he trusts said he’s good, and he’s decided to believe them and really do this— no matter what his parents think.

It _is_ a little sad that no one he really cares about is here. But he’s glad Jughead is, who’s already eating a burger with his coworker from The Blend at one of the small tables at the front. Archie is really grateful for Jughead because he made this all happen.

Archie had some small hopes that Betty would decide to show, but she texted him earlier to apologize and wish good luck. It’s the first text she sent her since the break-up, and Archie felt happy seeing his friend’s name light up the screen again. Little by little, things between them were going to be okay.

“Andrews, you’re up!” The stage manager announces. He holds up a hand to the sound supervisor and adjusts his earpiece.

Archie takes a deep breath and adjusts the guitar strap over his shoulder, walking on to the small stage.

The lights are bright on his face, making it hard to look at the audience in the dimly lit hall. It’s an intimate venue, with guests sitting just a few feet away. He knows where Jughead is and sees Toni walking near the front tables, and focuses mostly on them.

“Hi, everyone,” Archie says into the mic, feeling his neck warm. There’s some quiet chatter in the audience but nothing that he can understand. “My name is Archie Andrews, I’m from Williamsburg too,” he keeps on talking. It’s really weird to speak to no one and everyone — he’s not even sure if he _should_ be talking so much, but there’s an encouraging whistle from Jughead’s table. He smiles softly. “I write songs, and I’m going to sing one of them to you guys. Yeah, let’s go.”

His hair falls over his forehead when he looks down to start playing, his hips on the stool. Hearing the amplified sound of the fourth string on his guitar is crazy, gets his heart beating faster — this _is_ what he’s meant to be doing.

_“When I look into your eyes, it’s like watching the night sky… Or a beautiful sunrise, there’s so much they hold…”_

Cheryl lounges on a chaise in the living room, sipping from her cup of chamomile tea in front of the fireplace. She checks the time on the clock, a Blossom family heirloom placed in the middle of the mantle, and rolls her eyes as she waits.

Cheryl Blossom _doesn’t_ wait around for anyone, especially when she sets the appointment, and it’s ridiculous that she is now. When she sends an urgent message, she _expects_ an instant reply.

She’s about to call down to Jeeves at the front desk and tell him to turn away the guest she’s expecting when the elevator dings from the foyer.

Donna’s heels click quickly across the mahogany floors and she's unamused, throwing her bag on the couch. They haven’t seen each other, or spoken, since Cheryl sent her away the other day.

“Why did you call me here?” Donna demands without much ceremony. Cheryl sighs. Probably any other day she’d scold her for daring to talk to her like this, but today she just sets her porcelain teacup down with delicacy and wets her lips before getting up.

“I called you here to say that…” She takes a step towards Donna. “You were right.”

It’s visible that these words take Donna aback. She half-frowns, half-smiles, when her blue eyes meet Cheryl’s. Even with her dimples showing, Cheryl feels something bitter in her mouth when she purses her lips.

“I am often right about many things,” Donna says without looking down. “But what are we talking about, now?”

“You were right about me giving Veronica Lodge special treatment.” She feels a little vulnerable, but wanting to put this to rest.

Donna looks smug when she places a hand on her hip. “So, you assume that she might be out there to steal your crown after all?”

“No. I don’t think that’s what she’s after,” Cheryl shakes her head and takes a deep breath.

It’s something that’s been on her mind ever since they _almost_ clashed on the steps the other day and that same thrill from the Mixer went up her spine. There’s a lot between her and Veronica that goes beyond the crown.

“When I came out, almost two years ago, my life in this house became a Dickensian nightmare. Veronica gave me a place to stay for a while. She supported me. She fought my parents and everyone at school who even thought about being mean. And, for that, I admired her,” Cheryl says honestly. “I always respected her as a queen. I’m not going to treat her like a minion, because she’s my _friend_. The only one I’ve really had for a long time.” She toys with the ruby sash of her robe, watching as Donna’s face shifts into something a little softer. It’s something she’s only seen on a handful of occasions, normally following a handful of orgasms.

It’s nice to see it in a different situation.

“I think… That’s really brave of you to admit, Blossom.” Donna reaches out, gently touching the end of Cheryl’s hair hanging over her shoulders. Her soft smile changes into one she’s seen _many_ times before she speaks again. “And it’s nice to know that you will kneel for another queen. Maybe it will be my turn one day, and you’ll be on your knees for me.”

Cheryl feels a smirk tugging at her lips before lacing her fingers with the brunette’s. “Only in your dreams, Sweett.”

_“And just like them old stars… I see that you’ve come so far to be right where you are… How old is your soul?”_

Archie closes his eyes and controls his breathing before starting the chorus, the first bit that he wrote in this song as soon as Veronica left Reggie’s apartment on the night of the masquerade ball.

_“But I won’t give up on us even if the skies get rough. I’m giving you all my love, I’m still looking up.”_

Hermione looks up at the faded sign across Flushing Ave. She approaches Southside Motors, feeling nostalgic to be back in her old stomping grounds, that look the same as they always did.

Pulling at the ends of her _les cles keys_ Hermès scarf, Hermione ties the silk into a neater knot so the black and gold print lays perfectly over her coat. She opted for a _casual_ outfit, but still feels overdressed — a feeling that started so long ago when traveling across the bridge.

She pulls on the rusty door handle and can’t help but laugh when she hears the familiar chords of _Spiderwebs._ In high school, FP Jones claimed to be an AC/DC kind of guy but she knew the real him— the one who secretly loved No Doubt.

Hermione spots him right away, humming to the music under the car as if nothing had changed and no years have passed. She smiles softly at herself when she thinks of the words she told Veronica not too long ago, about sacrifices and timing.

She remembers finding FP in that same position many times before. She’d announce herself and he’d always, inevitably, hit his head on the car’s bottom and complain _you’re trying to get me killed, girl_.

This time she waits for half a minute until he rolls from under the car before saying, “Hello.”

FP seems surprised to see her there. “Gomez,” he greets with a small smile. There’s a smudge of grease on his forehead. Hermione doesn’t try to correct him because she knows he’s saying her maiden name on purpose. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione says, watching as he searches through his toolbox. She holds on to her Birkin, feeling a little silly wearing four-inch heels in a _garage_. She’s thinking about how she’ll explain her presence here when FP interrupts her.

“Can you hand me the torque wrench, please?”

Hermione shoots her eyebrows up. He says it as if she’s _supposed_ to remember what a _torque wrench_ looks like. Yes, she used to spend a great deal of time in this place back then, but that was about a million years ago— when she was wearing Doc Martens and ripped tights.

“C’mon, Gomez. You have not forgotten everything I taught you.”

To that, Hermione scoffs. “You haven’t taught me anything, Jones,” she bites back, looking over the metal board on the wall and trying to find the tool he mentioned even if she has absolutely no idea how it looks like, anymore.

He laughs quietly. “That is a lie. You used to know _a lot_ about cars,” he says in a teasing tone. Hermione glances at him over her shoulder, feeling her cheeks weirdly warm because _their first time_ was in a car. It’s stupid to blush like a teenager again, so she looks back at the board and, suddenly, she realizes which tool is supposed to be the torque wrench. “Aha. I knew you still had it in you.”

She hands him the wrench and he smiles a little bigger when their eyes meet. It’s something she hasn’t seen again until recently, at the coffee shop, in nearly two decades.

“What are you doing here tonight, m’lady?” FP asks as he rolls back under the car.

“I was… _not_ in the neighborhood, but I figured I haven’t really thanked you yet for everything you’ve been doing for me,” Hermione admits. Losing FP all those years ago was one of the biggest prices she paid, something that hurt them both _immensely_ and, as much as part of her knows that he’d never turn down an opportunity to help her, it’s been cathartic to realize how much she needed someone other than her daughter to really trust. “So I thought maybe we could have dinner?”

“Damn, Gomez. You came all the way from uptown to ask me out on a date. I’m flattered,” he says from under the car. Hermione rolls her eyes until she hears him chuckling. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“You are still very annoying,” she says, resting her hip against the counter and watching the top of his head moving as he deals with the car. “Are you accepting my offer?”

“ _Oof_ , Hermione,” FP finally moves again and sits up, looking at her. “It’s past-eight and I should be going home soon. Jellybean is alone because Jughead had a… gig,” he says with very honest brown eyes. She smiles knowingly — one of the first conversations they had in their adult life was about their kids, and he told her about the weird nicknames they had at home. “Rain check?”

She feels the smile growing on her face, something akin to happiness blooming in her chest. “Well, alright then. I’m looking forward to it,” she says before turning to leave. “But you may actually have to wear something that isn’t denim or stained with grease.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, and it sticks with her the whole way back up to Fifth Avenue.

_“And if you’re needing your space to do some navigating…”_ Archie sings into the microphone, his eyes still closed and the sound of his own voice all that he can actually hear. _“I’ll be here patiently waiting to see what you find.”_

Betty turns a page in the book she’s reading without paying too much attention. It’s barely eight in the evening, but she’s already tucked under the blankets, even though she’s not really sleepy yet. Her mom is downtown on assignment, catching wind of a break in a story she’s been covering. So she cooked dinner for herself and Hal, and he excused her right afterward.

There’s a soft knock on her door that makes her lift her head up. Betty fully expects it to be her dad when it opens, so she’s really surprised to see Veronica walking into the room.

“V?” she sits up. It’s weird, because after talking to her about it yesterday, Betty _genuinely_ thought that at this hour, Veronica would be across the bridge attending a certain concert.

But the girl lightly closing the door behind her is wearing _leggings_ and a sweater dress, her face bare of makeup. Betty frowns at the sight. “Hey.” Veronica smiles a little.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, a little thrown by her casual attire. Betty pulls back the comforter and pats the spot next to her, silently asking Veronica to sit in her bed and talk like they always used to.

Her friend smiles a little more at the invitation, moving across the room and settling in next to Betty. “Your dad let me in.”

Setting her book down on her nightstand, Betty shifts her body a little to face Veronica and find out what’s going on.

There are a few brief moments when Veronica opens her mouth to say something, but she never does.

“V.” She prompts in a soft voice, laying a gentle hand over Veronica’s. It’s still not the most comfortable of conversations to be having but she told Veronica it would be ok, that they would be ok and she intends to stick to her word. “I thought you’d be in Brooklyn tonight.”

Veronica sucks in a breath and releases it slowly, glancing over at Betty. “I can’t go to Brooklyn, B.”

Betty holds Veronica’s hand harder until her best friend actually holds it back. Betty searches her eyes, trying to understand. Maybe Archie was following someone else around, then? It’s weird because she really thought... “Why not?”

“Because…” Veronica shakes her head slowly and Betty can feel how vulnerable she’s feeling at the moment. “Because Archie and I did something horrible to you before. As much as you’re trying to tell me it’s alright and that you’d support us, it isn’t, B,” her brown eyes are shining. “And, amongst other things, we’re… We’re supposed to be better than that.”

“You can’t punish yourself forever over that mistake, Veronica,” Betty says and means it, even if it still twists her guts to think about what happened. Before Veronica can protest, she carries on with the conclusion that she silently sat with for the past month. “I… I don’t want to be in the way of your feelings for each other. I’ve been there way too long already.”

“No,” Veronica says, quite firmly, even though there are tears rolling down her cheeks now. “Archie and I talked and we both decided we need to learn from this. Maybe one day it won’t feel wrong, but right now it is. And I _know_ that you want me to be happy,” her voice cracks. Betty feels her own eyes starting to well up. “But I want you to be happy too. It’s my priority, B. I’m choosing _us_.”

Betty nods and pulls Veronica closer to lie on her chest, wrapping her arms around her. She kisses Veronica’s head and feels her own tears rolling down her cheeks. Betty feels a lot of things — she _knows_ that Veronica is crying because she’s giving up on Archie for the time being and that her feelings for him are real. She also knows that Veronica _is_ , somehow, punishing herself _and Archie_ , and while Betty doesn’t really agree with that, she can’t help but feel grateful and relieved to be put on the top of their list for a moment. She’s glad to have more time to heal.

“Thank you,” Betty whispers into Veronica’s hair. “I love you.”

She tips her head up slowly, brown eyes meeting hers. “I love you, too, B. So much.”

Veronica Lodge was the first person she ever considered to be her _best friend_ , and before he became her boyfriend, it was a role always filled by Archie. She really does believe everything will be ok between them— between all of them. One day.

But right now, they could all use this time to heal. Betty strokes Veronica’s hair, feeling her relax into her hold. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, V? You can borrow a pair of pajamas and we can watch a movie. Your choice.”

Veronica chuckles against her and the mood lightens just a bit. “Thanks, B. I’ll think about the movie. But you better not loan me anything with flannel.”

Veronica’s genuine smile makes her sure that everything really will be ok.

The part that follows is one of the most heartfelt lyrics Archie has ever managed to write, and he changes the chords and sings loudly into the mic, his heart tightening with the meaning of the words.

_“Cause even the stars they burn. Some even fall to the earth. We’ve got a lot to learn. God knows we’re worth it…”_

He steps back from the microphone so he can play the instrumental part that follows and remembers to breathe. He looks up to the audience and, having stepped away from the light, he can finally see faces — everyone is very quiet and seems to be paying actual attention, which gets him even more excited.

Doing a quick scan through the crowd there’s a face that he didn’t think he’d see here tonight, even if he _did_ leave one of the flyers on the kitchen counter before coming to the Wyrm.

 _His father_.

And Fred smiles and nods at him, making him smile too. His dad _cared_. He _listened_. He’s _here._

Coming back to the microphone so he can sing the last verse, his voice dropping a pitch.

_“I won’t give up on us even if the skies get rough. I’m giving you all my love, I’m still looking up…”_

Archie plays the last set of strings and it’s a still, long moment, before people start to _actually_ clap. They really do, as if they’ve really enjoyed it. He hears a loud whistle from Jughead and Toni calling _wooo!_ from the bar, but he focuses on his father, who’s nodding knowingly as he claps with pride in his eyes.

“Thank you. Again, my name is Archie Andrews, and I hope to see you guys soon,” Archie bows and enjoys the last moments of their applause before running backstage. Sweat is dripping from his temples and he accepts the bottle of water the stage manager hands him.

There’s a band waiting to be called, and they offer Archie pats on his back and compliments that he wasn’t expecting. There’s a huge thrill in his stomach, something that he never quite felt before. He’s excited to go out there and thank his father for coming and to go home with him and have him listen to everything that he’s feeling right now. He thanks everyone for the support and removes his guitar from around his torso, reaching out for his phone that’s been stored inside the guitar case.

There is a new message on his home screen, from an unknown number, sent just _minutes_ after he went on stage.

**_b told me about your grand debut. i’m proud of you, red troubadour._ **

Archie feels his heart beating even faster on the verge of cracking open. He knows it’s Ronnie, knows that she’s mentioning Betty to imply that she’s standing by their last conversation about _not now_.

His eyes prickle, and a smile comes to his lips, because the fact that Veronica took her time to send him words of support despite all that’s happened just proves that everything will be ok, someday.

He’s proud of himself too. And he’s proud of her. And he loves her. Forever.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all well when it ends well between these three. Yes, my Varchies, we're hitting a moment of individual growth for our faves, but don't lose faith 😉 Archie is finally taking a road that he's chosen. You can also see that Beronica are getting even stronger and Bughead getting closer. Did we sense some jealousy on Jughead's part? Cheryl/Donna, who would've thought? And why is the Blue and Gold getting salty about the Register?
> 
> Next chapter, prepare your boas and champagne glasses, there's something brewing that you haven't seen coming!
> 
> Thank you for reading: everyone is being so patient and lovely, and we're happy to see friends from other parts of the fandom around, it really means so much to us! This is the playlist (a sad one too):
> 
>   * Happy Ending - Mika (song at the beginning)
>   * Second Hand Lovers - John Ralston (varchie and bughead feels)
>   * Just Love - Harry Warren (veronica and hermione scene)
>   * Rich Girls - The Virgins (cheryl and donna)
>   * Girl, I Told Ya - Valeria, Aria (steps scene)
>   * Spiderwebs - No Doubt (hermione and fp) 
>   * I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz (archie's song... the star of this show)
> 



	7. #daddyoh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! We're again apologizing for taking so long. Truth is, we needed a break from Riverdale after all that clownery that happened in canon. But we're happy to be back and to continue this story, that will, and we assure you, get a lot of reactions lol.
> 
> We wrote a recap of the events from chapter 01-06 in Vik's Tumblr (@andsmile), in case anyone needs one. We're also playing with adding the moodboards to the chapter, if anyone is bothered by that let us know! Here to remind everyone that this is a multi-character, multi-ship fic, and that all the ships we wrote in the tags will happen at one point or the other, and that since this is a GG AU, you can expect a lot of quick changes and drama, but that we hope to know what we're doing lol. That's all for now! Hope you enjoy this delicious chapter. 💋

**— come on baby, we can belong —**

__

_good morning, upper east siders. @blueandgold here. we have missed you dearly, and we, of course, know you’ve missed us. so let’s skip the pleasantries and get straight to business. thanksgiving has passed and right now everyone is holding out for winter break. whether it be plans to ski in vail or enjoy a hot get away in rio de janeiro, we’d all just like to get through the model un banquet first._

_recently **#spotted:** ice skating in central park, **#beronica** being adorable while **#archreggie** are also winning our hearts co-captaining stonewall’s undefeated hockey team. it seems as though **#chonna** are holding court at thornhill for the foreseeable future. but the long wait is over, and so is the weekend. let’s see what this frigid monday has in store for us._

* * *

Only two more weeks until Christmas, and Veronica has officially swapped out her fall wardrobe for her winter favorites. She clutches her wool Valentino coat a little closer — Christie Street doubles as a tunnel for the freezing wind. She misses Palm Springs’ weather.

Ever the gentleman, Kevin pulls open the brassy door handle and ushers her inside so they can escape the cold.

“So, why, exactly, did Elio Grande call you here?”

Veronica raises her eyebrow at the question. “Because he trusts my opinion on his new business venture.”

“You guys seem to be pretty close,” Kevin points out as they enter the establishment. “And you know, now that Ginger Ale is officially off the menu—”

She gives Kevin _a look_. “‘We agreed not to discuss him,” she says. It’s the politics she’s living by lately: after her final decision, Archie isn’t even a _possibility_ now, so she won’t think about him. Or talk about him. And, if she sees him at school, it’s all politeness. Sometimes a smile. You’d never guess they’ve once been best friends or anything more than that. “Besides, not everything has to mean what you want it to mean,” she points out.

Veronica pulls off her glove to swipe a finger over the dust-covered bar, admiring the craftsmanship of the original wood. There are a few old sheets, splattered with paint, covering the furniture while a team preps the main room. An electrician stands on a ladder, connecting a few wires, before hanging up a crystal chandelier.

“I’m just wondering why a college guy would be interested in a high school girl’s business opinion. No offense, I know you have an eye for this stuff, but still...”

Veronica chuckles. “Let’s just say we were raised in pretty similar ways,” she explains, glancing down at her wristwatch to see how long they have until school starts. “Our families have been working together for years. We became fast friends while joining them as kids for business dinners at Cipriani.”

As if on cue, Elio walks past the roped-off sections to greet them, a blinding smile cast in their direction. “Well if it isn’t Spence’s finest. And Kevin Keller, of course.”

“Wow, he remembers my name,” Kevin whispers with a laugh to Veronica before reverting his attention as Elio meets them. “Nice to see you again.”

“Elio,” Veronica extends a hand that he playfully bows down to kiss. “I must say I’m surprised— though impressed. But why the sudden urge to dabble with your trust fund and purchase this watered-down version of the Crazy Horse?”

Elio juts his chin at her in defense. “It’s _burlesque_ , Veronica. And just wait until I transform this _fine_ establishment into a one-stop shop where all fantasies can come true. And, well, it’s the kind of investment my dad needs to be doing.”

Veronica _is_ a fan of cabaret and has an admiration for the outlandish days of the past, seeing a lot of potential within these walls. He gives them a brief tour while Veronica puts on her glasses and skims the proposal.

“Seems to me that all your years of boozing and womanizing have finally paid off,” Veronica jokes as she places a reassuring hand on his forearm, covered by the sleeve of his tailored suit. “Your father will love it. _I,_ however, have to run before I’m late.”

“So soon? Don’t you want some bourbon for breakfast, dear?” Elio smiles when she leans in to kiss his cheek.

“I have a _lot_ to do today. _And_ my father will be in town…” she checks her watch again. “...in twenty-five minutes. Raincheck?”

“On Friday for the grand opening,” Elio says. “We’ll celebrate. I’ll send a car.”

Veronica smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it. Let’s go, Kev?”

“You can take off, V,” Kevin quickly checks his phone. “I’ve got that meeting with the recruit from West Point during first period anyway, and it’s only a few blocks away. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure thing. See you, fellas,” Veronica blows them a kiss, taking another quick look at the stage before leaving the place.

* * *

**_spotted: #veronicalodge_ ** _allegedly having her breakfast in... a strip club. didn't our girl go good? she spent her birthday with her grandmother (btw, nice tan, v!) and all. practically a saint. maybe it's stress because daddy lodge was spotted at jfk, looking fine as always._

* * *

The maid sprinkles a dusting of powdered sugar over Cheryl’s fruit plate. She normally wouldn’t indulge, but it’s the last day she’s able to do so — her parents are coming back from Europe this afternoon, after two months of absence, and all the _sweets_ would have to stop for a while.

Donna being here for breakfast is one of them.

“This is the fourth time you’ve refreshed your email and it’s barely eight,” Cheryl points out. “May I ask what is more important than spending the morning with me?”

“Professor Frank Martinelli,” Donna says, setting her phone down with a sigh. Cheryl creases her forehead. “We have the Model UN banquet next week. He interviewed me last Friday and I’m pretty sure that I’m getting the opening toast. Do you know the last time St. Barnard’s got to do it?”

“I really don’t,” Cheryl places her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table. “Model UN was always a Veronica thing. I couldn’t possibly be seen dabbling in something so geeky. _I_ have an image to maintain.”

Donna smiles. “I admit it’s a bit... _nerdy,_ but it’s also really interesting. We’re representing the UK this edition. It looks great on our applications too, as I’m sure you know. And all the Columbia hotties that supervise us… Worth it.”

Cheryl rolls her eyes fondly. “Jailbait,” she jokes, popping one of her extra-sweet strawberries into her mouth. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get it.” She assures her, extending a hand to lay over Donna’s.

Donna seemingly relaxes with a slight drop of her shoulders and a small smile, the first one all day that’s shown her dimples. “I’m surprised you aren’t involved in Model UN, Miss Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better,” she pokes. “And if not for the shallow image you wish not to tarnish, at least we could be competing for our rightful places at the top together.”

“Please, foreign affairs are _way_ too democratic for my taste.” Cheryl dismisses while checking her phone. “Well, look at the time,” she notes while pushing away from the table to collect her bag. “Unlike _you_ , Theresa May, _I_ have a kingdom to rule. Some subjects are in need of a gentle reminder.”

They share a tender kiss openly in the foyer before getting in their respective black cars to be driven to school.

Betty finishes organizing the drafted layout for The Register’s next edition and starts color-coding the unfinished articles that need to be finished by Wednesday in time to go to press.

She’s about to send a text to Jughead to see if he’s still meeting her before first period like they planned when Cheryl Blossom appears in the doorway, draping herself against the frame. She flips her red hair over her shoulder and adjusts the ruby-encrusted cherry brooch over the lapel of her cashmere sweater.

“Hey, Cheryl,” Betty greets while multitasking, watching as her friend looks around their office in disgust. “Do you need something? I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“Whatever, or whoever, it is can wait,” Cheryl cuts her off and walks to where Betty stands behind the desk. “I’m starting to think you no longer want to be part of our elite entourage. While you are valuable, there are so many who would kill to take your place.”

“I’m not _unfriending_ you, Cheryl. I just have a lot of work to do and no minions to do it for me.”

“Work? You’re wasting away in this crumbling newspaper office, while— do you actually drink from this?” She interrupts herself while holding up the coffee pot from last night’s session.

Betty scoffs. She does miss hanging out with the girls, but it also feels like something she’s leaving behind little by little, something that meant more for the _old Betty_ , the one trying to be loved and accepted, the one trying to hold on to a boy who couldn’t do either. “What’s your point, Cheryl?”

“My point is, I wouldn’t be so hurt that you’re giving all your time to the paper if you wrote juicier articles. You never write about me anymore, either.” She pouts, picking up last month’s edition. “These aren’t the stories that sell. Where’s the heat? Where’s the sizzle? You’re settling for the Queens Tribune when you should be Page Six.”

“I’m covering _real_ stories, Cheryl. About our school. Important pieces that people will look back at—”

“Not to mention the Brooklyn bum who’s become your new shadow.”

Betty scrunches up her nose at Cheryl’s remark. “Jughead?”

Cheryl makes a face. “If you say so.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “He’s actually doing a great job here, helping me with the—”

“Are you sure?” Cheryl interrupts, taking a _pen_ from Betty’s desk and inspecting it. “Because from what I see, he looks like a pathetic lovesick mutt.”

“What?” Betty feels her cheeks burn at the implication.

“I’m simply calling it as I see it, Betty, dear. It seems that all this help is an intricate ploy to get closer to you. Befriending Archie post-breakup? One week later applying for a post that has been open for _years_?”

“Hey, Betts, sorry I’m late. Got you a decaf vanilla latte.” Jughead rushes through the door with a carrier of coffee, scowling a little at the redhead. “Blossom.”

“Hobo,” she says in acknowledgment, turning back to Betty with a raised eyebrow. “Think about what I said,” Cheryl places the pen where she found it and adjusts the leather strap of her backpack, leaving the room.

Jughead glances over at Betty, the wrinkle around his eyes betraying the smile he’s fighting. “What was Her Majesty doing here?” he asks sardonically, handing out Betty’s coffee cup.

She breathes in the vanilla scent. “I think she just misses me,” Betty says. Jughead lifts both his eyebrows. “What? I’m _very missable_.”

He laughs in that way that he often does, something quiet, his shoulders trembling a little. “Can’t argue with that.” He takes a sip of his surely black coffee and starts shuffling through the papers on his desk.

Betty feels her cheeks burning again, suddenly racking her brain for any sign that would prove Cheryl’s theory right. She has noticed the way his blue eyes light up sometimes when they have a breakthrough, or when she sits across the desk from him while he snacks.

But Jughead likes writing and he loves to eat, so that would explain it.

“Hey, Betts?”

She’s interrupted from her inner reasoning to see him smirking a little, sliding a pencil behind his ear. He’s beanie-less today. His black hair looks soft.

“Ready to get to work?”

Veronica stores a few books in her locker before leaving to meet her father at Lodge Industries for lunch. She asked Andre to pick up the order she called in, wanting to bring him something special, something that would remind him of their old lunch dates in the city.

“Hey you,” Cheryl approaches her, tucking back a loose curl behind her ear. “Let’s head to lunch? We’re going to NoGlu.”

“Sorry, Cher. Daddy’s in town, I’m meeting him soon.” Veronica slides her Birkin up to the crook of her arm and shuts her locker, turning to face Cheryl.

The redhead reaches out to touch the single pearl pendant on Veronica’s necklace, a gift sent by Hiram for her seventeenth birthday. “So that explains you having breakfast at a strip club this morning?”

Veronica giggles. “No, but I’m still not ready for the badgering questions.” She admits, knowing Cheryl understands the strained relationship with her father. “You know how he gets.”

“At least you only see him sporadically. I’ve come to enjoy the time away from mine.” She sighs. “They’re coming home tonight.”

“ _Ugh._ Let me know if you need to escape. _Mi hotel suite, su hotel suite_.” They both smile. “Talking about escaping, the strip club is actually Elio’s. He’s transforming it into a speakeasy.”

“A _speakeasy_?” Cheryl falls into step with her as they head outside, walking closer to where Andre is parked. He trades the town car for the limo whenever Hiram is in town. “That’s… Something.”

“I know, right? Opening night is this Friday, if you and your lady want to come. I’ll ask Betty, too.”

“You know I do love a girls night out. I’ll talk to Donna,” Cheryl says, adjusting the scarf around her neck. “Good luck with your dad, let me know how it goes.”

“You, too.” Veronica smiles as Cheryl crosses the street, the wind blowing her long, red hair.

Another flash of red moves in her peripheral vision as Andre opens the limo door for her. Veronica looks over to see Archie crossing the street too, his hands in the pockets of his navy overcoat. He’s looking at the opposite side of the two-way street, and doesn't seem to notice her. It’s better like this.

“Miss Lodge?” Andre catches her attention. Veronica breathes out and gets into the back of the limo.

Traffic holds them up a little, but soon Veronica is walking through the rotating doors of her very own empire. It’s been a few months since she’s been to the Lodge Industries headquarters; a bittersweet feeling after her parents’ divorce.

The staff seems to be the same, appearing to be busy with rapid typing while talking business and scheduling appointments over the phone. Hermione works on a different floor from the one Veronica is visiting today — she wouldn’t dare invite her mom to join them, learning the hard way that _family gatherings_ have a whole different meaning nowadays.

Hiram’s secretary, Mrs. Lake, who always comes with him from Miami, smiles at Veronica when she sees her, having known her since she was a little girl. “Hi, Veronica. Your father is talking to Mr. Minetta, he’ll be done in a—”

The door to the office opens. It’s her father seeing out Michael Minetta, the man he hired to be in charge of their New York branch, after making clear that Hermione couldn’t hold so much power. He doesn’t pay much attention to Veronica, only offering her a nod before talking to Mrs. Lake about something.

“ _Mija_!” Veronica's smile comes easy when she sees her father greeting her with open arms — she’s _always_ nervous before seeing him, but it always goes away once she does and it reminds her that _it’s just Daddy._ He hugs her and she presses her cheek to his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. “How’s my favorite girl in the world?”

“I’m fine, Daddy,” she says as she pulls apart. “I brought sandwiches from Katz for us. Your favorite.”

“Pastrami on rye, I hope.” He smiles, motioning for her to follow him.

They get settled at the table in Hiram’s lounge while Veronica retrieves the wrapped sandwiches from the bag. She feels a sense of pride when he smiles appreciatively at the New York delicacy.

“I’m looking forward to the Model UN’s announcement of your toast at the banquet, palomita.”

Veronica takes a sip of her soda, knowing that this conversation was inevitable. She collects herself before replying.

“The interview with Mr. Martinelli went great—”

“Of course it did. I’m sure you made quite the impression.”

“—but he did say that the Phoenix Center debacle is something that they’ll have to consider and because of that, I may not be the right fit to give the toast.” She tries sugarcoating it, withholding the details about the judgemental tone of the interviewing professor.

Hiram sets his sandwich down. His nostrils flare and Veronica braces herself for whatever it is he’s about to say, holding onto the great conversation they were having just a minute ago.

“You promised me no more scandals, Veronica. And while I know that you’ve been working hard, I’m concerned that your mother is not the best influence right now. It’s her fault we’re in this mess, but that doesn’t mean you should have taken the bullet to save her the embarrassment while you jeopardize your future. _She’s_ the one who should apologize for this, at least a statement to clear your name.”

Veronica feels like a little girl being scolded, upset that this is where they’re at. Now is not the time to tell him she’d do it again if it meant it would protect her mother.

“I still think I have a good chance, Daddy.” She has spent her whole life pacifying her father. “My grades have never been better and he did say I had one of the most impressive interviews all week.”

Her father heaves a breath with a curt nod, “Not impressive enough for him to even consider thinking you’re not the right candidate. I suggest you call Mr. Martinelli and schedule a follow-up interview. We will _not_ accept a loss.”

Veronica sighs and nods, deciding to agree. With Hiram, sometimes wins and losses felt like the same thing.

Archie’s books are all spread over the diner’s tabletop. Toni walks past him to tend one of the other three tables and then he watches as she moves to the jukebox. He smiles briefly when the song she picks starts playing and turns his attention back to his chemistry notebook, his head swaying to the rhythm.

_You’ve got me running in circles, can’t keep my feet on the ground…_

Doing his homework at Pop’s after school, watching the winter day prematurely turn into evening from the big glass windows, has been a good addition to his routine. He has no will to stay at Stonewall post-hockey and there’s round-the-clock construction happening near the loft. He enjoys the diner’s atmosphere — the smell of coffee and Toni’s great jukebox picks.

“Nice choice,” he tells her when she comes near his table again, filling up his coffee mug.

“Thanks, Red,” she says. The pink on her hair has been fading lately. “Oh, by the way, some people at the Wyrm asked where they could hear more of your music. Do you have an Instagram or Youtube channel I could pass along?”

Archie is surprised to learn people are asking about _his_ music. He’s played at the Wyrm three times already, three different songs, but it was a steady crowd, not a full house or anything, so he didn’t really think people were particularly interested. He feels his cheeks warming up.

“No,” he chuckles. “Social media isn’t really my thing. I mean, I do have Instagram but not… It’s private and I don’t really post.”

Toni tilts her head, looking at him like he’s crazy. “If you want to get anywhere, you’ve got to be on social media. You’re a great musician, Archie, but artists today don’t get discovered playing at little venues a few times a month.”

He drags a hand over his face. “I have Twitter too. I think it’s where I have more followers.”

“Didn’t take you for the tweeting type.” Toni seems interested. Archie takes his phone and unlocks it, opening the app.

“It’s not _me_. I don’t post anything, but the Blue and Gold readers follow me. It’s… a thing at our school. This anonymous account who posts about me and my friends… About most of the Upper East Side schools, I guess,” he gives her his phone so she can check it out, one of the latest posts the account made about him.

“Wait, this is brilliant,” she says as she scrolls through the thread.

“No, it’s not,” Archie scoffs. “It’s just some girl with a lot of free time.”

“What makes you think it’s a girl?” She asks him, giving him a pointed look. Archie never considered the identity of the person behind the blasts, maybe a few years ago when it all started, but always imagined the Blue and Gold as a girl, someone from Cheryl’s clique or something. He shrugs when he realizes he has nothing to answer. “Doesn’t matter — this _is_ brilliant. You already have a somewhat trending hashtag and almost a _thousand_ followers.”

“Jughead said I shouldn't show my music to anyone at school, though,” Archie takes his phone back. He can’t begin to imagine posting songs to the Blue and Gold followers and all the theories they’d conjure. “It’s… There’s a lot in the lyrics that could stir some shit.”

“Welcome to the music business, Red. That’s how it is,” Toni says. “Listen, you need to record something and put it out there. Probably Youtube, if you want your Instagram to remain private. I can help you if you want. I’m off Friday.”

Archie thinks about the offer, knowing she’s probably right. He made it clear he wanted to pursue music, talking to his mom about all the music programs. She was pleased to be talking with him about college at all, noting the pamphlets from reputable universities. He should make the effort. “Ok,” he says. “Yeah, Friday is great. Thanks, Toni.”

“No problem. Glad to be your first manager,” she smiles, patting his shoulder when a few customers come through the door, the sound of the bells prompting her to greet them.

Archie looks down at his phone, the Blue and Gold page opened. His thumb hovers over the last blast — something about Veronica and Bret being the Spence-Stonewall Model UN team leads. The hashtag for Veronica is tempting to click, but he manages some self-control. It’s bad enough to see her at school and not talk to her, but he shouldn’t torture himself. Plus, all things considered, it’s much better than when she was in boarding school and he couldn’t see her _at all_.

He closes the app.

On Wednesday evening, Veronica sits in front of the fireplace with her feet tucked under a fuzzy throw pillow while watching a movie with Betty, who has her head on Veronica’s shoulder.

She sets her hot chocolate down on the monogrammed _L_ coaster, startled when her phone vibrates against the coffee table. It’s an unknown number, so she pauses Jimmy Stewart and swipes the screen to answer. Betty sits up, eyeing her curiously.

“Hello?”

“Good evening. Miss Lodge?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker. “This is Professor Martinelli, Columbia University.”

Veronica gets a wave of nerves and widens her eyes to Betty, who opens her mouth, both knowing this is _the_ call. He was receptive to her rescheduling the interview, seemingly impressed with her persistence, and it went much better than the first.

“Hello, Professor. It’s a pleasure to hear from you again.” She charms him as long as she can. Betty waves an impatient hand.

“I’m sorry for calling so late, but I wanted to let you know that I’m pleased to share that you'll be making the banquet toast.”

Veronica breaks out into a smile. _YES!_ She celebrates quietly. Betty gives her two thumbs up, excited too. “Thank you very much, sir!”

“You earned it,” he assures. “Keep an eye out for Friday’s newsletter and I look forward to working with you this season.”

She thanks him again before hanging up the phone, feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Finally, her father will be granted some good news on her end. “I got it! I got the speech!”

“Of course you did!” Betty throws her arms around her, pressing their cheeks together.

Cheryl watches on as Donna’s face contorts in confusion, pacing around in her lilac bedroom. With Clifford and Penelope back home, they’ve been spending more time at the Sweett’s. She picks at a piece of threading on Donna’s silky comforter, waiting for her to get back under the covers.

“Can you at least tell me who?” She huffs, trying to steady her breathing while listening to the other end. “I see. Thank you,” she replies curtly and Cheryl swears her blue eyes have never looked so icy.

Donna chucks her phone violently onto her dresser, slamming a drawer for good measure.

“Do I want to know what all that was about?” Cheryl asks, rarely seeing Donna this way.

“ _That_ was Professor Martinelli, the Model UN advisor at Columbia. He said the toast will be given to someone else,” she seethes. “I earned that toast, it was in the bag. Last Friday, he practically _swore_ it was mine.”

“Ok,” Cheryl starts calmly.

“OK?!” The brunette stares at her, dumbfounded. “How is this ok?”

“It’s not, _yet_. But we both know there’s only one solution to it, Sweett.” Cheryl sees the wheels turning in Donna’s head. “Blackmail.”

It’s way too easy to break into Professor Martinelli’s office. They just put on jeans to look _common_ and walk into the East Campus as they belong there. Inside the International Affairs building, there’s really _no one_ working after hours, so they don’t even need to tell anyone their well-practiced excuses — they just need a jiggle of Cheryl’s credit card and the lock unclicks.

“You think they’d be more careful in an Ivy League institution, but I guess it pays off to be Professor Nobody,” Cheryl mentions when they slip into the office, closing the door behind them.

They turn on the flashlights on their phones, shining over the wall of leather-bound books and framed pictures.

“So, what exactly do you _think_ we’re looking for?” Donna asks. It’s obviously her first _sleuthing_ moment. She was skeptical about blackmailing Professor Martinelli, too. Cheryl has no idea how she can be St. Barnard’s _queen_ if she doesn’t know all the secret ways of success.

“Compromising documents, pictures, anything we can use against him. You said he got someone else to do it in your place,” Cheryl starts opening cabinets, her gloved hands inspecting files carefully, while Donna moves to his desk. “Did he tell you who? Because if we can’t find anything on him, we can find some dirt on your opponent, force them to drop the speech.”

“Oh… No,” Donna answers as she looks into drawers. “No, he said he couldn’t tell me their name.”

“Interesting,” Cheryl notes. “See if you can find who they are. There must be some paper with…”

She pulls out a book and two little bags drop on the shelf.

Two little bags of cocaine.

Cheryl smirks. This is something she learned from a very young age, spending all of her time talking about boys at school while secretly wanting the girls: _everyone is always hiding something._

“...Never mind, my Sweett. The speech is yours,” she says, shaking the two bags at Donna, who raises her eyebrows, impressed.

* * *

_good afternoon, beloved stans. we just received the new edition of spence-stonewall’s register pushed across our table and immediately used it as a coaster for our teacup. thanks **#bettycooper** for helping us respect the wood. while we do believe there’s something nostalgic about the printed-press, we’re not big fans of their biased reports. a whole page dedicated to model un and how **#veronicalodge** is the best to lead the award-winning team? are the lodges financing your dead paper, b? don’t forget, upper east siders, there’s only one source that you can trust, and it’s the **@blueandgold**. follow **#bgcmunc** to avoid fake news._

* * *

Betty finishes reading the Blue and Gold’s latest blast to Jughead, who’s laying his forearms flat against the express bar where she sits. The fast-paced section of the counter generally sees a lot of turn-over, customers quickly grabbing their to-go cups, but Betty likes to sit here sometimes, so she can talk to Jughead while he works.

“I don’t understand. Why would they be annoyed because I talked about Veronica? They _love_ Veronica. Their first post was about her.”

Jughead smiles briefly, shrugging. “Being the first subject on a gossip account, maybe they hate her, if you think about it.”

Betty sighs, frustrated. “No. This is weird. They never even _bothered_ with The Register before. It seems like they’re trying to sabotage us on purpose, but _why_?”

“I don’t know. The Blue and Gold has a very different opinion on what qualifies as journalism than we do, so I’m not sure where their grudge is coming from. But does it even matter?”

“It matters to me.” Betty bites her lip. _The paper matters_ , it’s what she means — the paper is helping her do something she enjoys doing for herself, the paper gets her head out of the lithium and Polly and everything else. She doesn't want anyone hurting the paper. “And it feels kind of personal. Do you see how they don’t mention you?”

“No one ever mentions me, Betts. It’s the perks of being invisible.”

“You’re not invisible, Jug.”

He smirks a little at her words, dimples showing on either side of his mouth.

“Well… Nobody knew who I was before I started hanging out with Archie. Now, I’m _Archie’s friend_ , probably on my way to be promoted as your _partner in crime_ or something.”

“I… I knew who you were. Before.”

Jughead glances at her with soft eyes, lingering for a second before replying. “Yeah, but you’re not… Them. You’re not Veronica, or Cheryl, or… Other people at school.”

Betty isn’t sure of what he means, but she sort of understands it. She never really felt the same as them, to be honest. “I still think it’s weird that the Blue and Gold is suddenly jealous of the newspaper,” she says, feeling a little defeated. “Have you ever wondered who he is?”

“ _He?_ Do you think it’s a guy?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, curious.

“I don’t know. Sometimes. Sometimes, I think it’s a team,” she says. “I know it’s someone from our school because of the handle.”

“What do you mean?” He refills the napkin dispenser and leans across the counter a little closer to her.

“Well… _Blue and gold_ are literally our colors,” she says with a shake of her head, like it's obvious.

“Yes, but… St. Barnard’s is _gold_ and grey. Dalton-Greenwich is _blue_ and red… Maybe it’s just general colors from all the prep schools they report on.” There’s a shine in his eyes now, and she’s intrigued with the other details he’s picked up on.

“That’s… clever. I didn’t think about that.”

“You didn’t hire me for my looks.” He laughs with a smug expression.

“Juggie… I wanna dig into this.”

“Into what?”

“The Blue and Gold. If they’re coming at us for some reason, it’s only fair that we go at them.”

“Betts, are you sure that—”

Jughead stops talking, because the door opens, announcing two new customers. Betty turns around and is surprised to see Archie _and_ Reggie, freshly showered after their hockey practice.

It’s been a nice change between her and Archie since their talk about colleges and Veronica’s final decision. They acknowledge each other now, though, sometimes, it still feels a little awkward.

“... the things I do for you, Archie,” Reggie says once he spots Betty and Jughead at the express bar. He lifts a hand. “Hey, Juggalo!”

Betty’s eyebrows travel up.

“ _Reggie_ ,” Archie scolds in a way that makes him sound like his mom, “I asked you to be nice.”

Reggie seems profoundly offended. “I’m the _nicest_. Hey, Coop,” he turns to Betty with a nod. “I like your skirt.”

Instinctively, Betty pulls the hem of her skirt down, even though she’s wearing wool tights. Her cheeks feel warm. Archie’s cheeks turn red too and she thinks he’s about to apologize for Reggie’s manners, so she decides to move. “I think I’m gonna get going,” she tells Jughead. “Will you be ok?”

“Yeah, I can handle them,” Jughead says, amused, watching as Archie and Reggie take a table by the window.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _two bros having hot chocolate six feet apart cause they’re not… oh, please. this joke is so last season. we’re just happy to see these buff boyfriends back together, and even happier to see b fly the coop._

* * *

At dusk on Friday, Cheryl and Donna find their way back to Columbia and back in Professor Martinelli’s office waiting for him after his last lecture, ending at six sharp.

The door creaks open and Cheryl winks at the brunette, who's looking a little more terrified than she did a moment ago. “Showtime,” she whispers excitedly.

He flips on the overhead lights and meets the girls with wide eyes. “What are you doing in here?” He asks, his gaze landing on Donna and recognizing her. _“Miss Sweett?”_

Donna doesn’t say anything, opening and closing her mouth before he moves to leave.

“Not so fast, Professor,” Cheryl speaks up, eyes boring into Donna’s.

When the brunette does nothing, Cheryl stalks towards the man with her phone held out, documented photographs of the drugs they found between his books. Of course, she took other pictures too, placing the cocaine bags right in front of the tag with his name on the desk.

“I’m sure not even a _tenured_ staff member could get away with this dirty of a secret.”

He looks taken aback. “Are you threatening me?”

“You could say that. Or, you could say that I’m preventing you from falling into academic oblivion. And jail, of course, since I’m sure the authorities would be interested to hear you offered drugs to two minors you called into your office.”

Professor Martinelli starts gasping with a rising chest like a fish out of water. “What is this about?”

“The opening toast next week,” Donna _finally_ speaks up. Cheryl has a lot to teach her. “I deserve it more than anyone else and you better _guarantee_ that I’m getting what I deserve.”

“ _What the hell_ , who even cares about this stupid toast?” Martinelli sighs, exasperated. Cheryl purses her lips, annoyed. “ _Fine_ , Miss Sweett and… _you_ ,” he looks at Cheryl. “If this toast is so important to you, I’ll announce your name. I don’t give a fuck about who’s speaking to represent _high schools_.”

“That’s ok, we’re not here to collect your fucks,” Cheryl slips her phone in her backpack. “We’ll wait until the announcement is made and then we’ll delete the pictures. Of course, things like that remain in the cloud, so I wouldn’t pull any tricks. Do you even know what _the cloud_ is or are you too old?”

Professor Martinelli goes to his desk and turns on his computer. “I really am too old for this,” he says, resigned.

Cheryl grabs Donna’s hand with a reassuring squeeze, her heart content when she links their fingers, a little smile on her lips.

It’s _weird_ to have a girl at the loft. A girl who isn’t Betty or Veronica and who he knows basically nothing about, besides spending most of his afternoons in her presence lately.

But Toni doesn’t seem weirded out at all. In fact, she’s quite comfortable walking around his room while he’s sitting on his bed, watching her checking out all of his stuff on the shelves — mostly action figures from their old house in Brooklyn and some precious LPs.

“Oh, _Led Zeppelin_. Cool.”

She isn’t wearing her waitress uniform today and Archie is pretty positive that none of the girls he knows would dress like that: ripped worn-out jeans, combat boots and a pink-and-white flannel shirt on top of a… see through _thing_.

“Do you really live here?” Toni asks, frowning, when she sees the makeshift hanging rack he’s using since the room doesn’t _really_ have a closet. Archie feels strangely _exposed_ when she starts going through his clothes.

“Uh, kind of. I usually live with my mom uptown but…“ he sighs. It’s been _a while_ since he stayed more than three days at his mother’s place, although most of his things are still there. He actually only goes there to get more clothes and have dinner every now and then, and only sleeps over when he’s too tired after hockey to take the subway all the way to Williamsburg.

After his parents’ divorce, Archie didn’t really feel like he had a choice — he’d live with his mother and _period_ , he actually thinks these were Mary’s exact words — but, now, he knows that he feels more like himself in Brooklyn, especially since breaking up with Betty.

Toni gives him an understanding smile. “ _Mothers._ Say no more. Ok, you’re title is _Golden Boy_ , so I’m thinking we should keep your wardrobe simple. White tee, jeans.” She takes a white Henley from a hanger and throws it at him. “I’m gonna set up the camera while you change.”

Archie scratches the back of his head. He’s never been really shy about taking his shirt off, but he supposes it’s the right thing to do, so he leaves his room and moves into the bathroom to switch shirts. He combs his hair too, for good measure. When he’s back, Toni has already placed her camera on a tripod with an LED light on top of it.

“You should sit here,” she says. Archie notices that she also took a stool from the kitchen, that’s now situated in the middle of his room. He does as he’s told and she hands him his guitar. The object makes Archie feel a little more comfortable with the entire situation. “Ok, people don’t usually seek out original music on the internet, so we should definitely pick a cover to start with. Any one you’re particularly good at? And, _please,_ don’t say Wonderwall.”

Archie frowns. Toni is now pulling out a collapsible microphone from the equipment bag, and he’s pretty sure it’s the same microphone he used at the Wyrm. “I mean… I’m not sure,” he says. He usually likes music that’s a little older than him, songs from the eighties and nineties — songs that _aren’t fun for parties_ , Reggie would always say.

“We should aim for pop but not _super pop_ , since I don’t think that’s what you’re really into.” Toni comes closer to him and starts messing up his hair again. Archie raises his eyebrows, ears getting hot. “That’s better. You look good.”

“Arch, do you think we should—” the bedroom door wasn’t _really_ closed, but it bursts open as his father walks in. “ _Oh_. I didn’t realize you had company,” Fred stops when he sees Toni.

The heat on Archie’s ears spreads to his face and neck. “Dad. This is, uh, Toni Topaz. She’s Jughead’s friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Andrews,” Toni steps away from Archie, not embarrassed at all, and extends a hand to shake Fred’s. “I’ve seen you at the Wyrm.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” he smiles in recognition. “What’s… going on here?” he asks, nodding at all the paraphernalia in Archie’s room.

“We’re going to film Archie singing a cover on his brand new Youtube channel,” Toni answers. Archie looks over at his dad, cheeks burning now. “He’s going to be the new Shawn Mendes in zero time.”

“I’m not sure who that is, but it sounds promising,” Fred says, laughing. “Let me know if you guys get hungry.”

Veronica crosses the black and white diamond-patterned flooring of The Baccarat Hotel’s bar. Her heels click quickly, hopefully saving her from one of her father’s lectures about punctuality.

The hostess approaches her with a smile. “Welcome to The Bar. Do you have reservations?”

“I’m with Hiram Lodge,” Veronica says, seeing her father at a table. He waves at her, briefly, but he’s on the phone.

“Follow me please.”

“Hi, Dadd—” Hiram lifts a finger to interrupt her as he listens to the person on the line atently. Veronica gives him a quick kiss on his hairline and sits down, taking her own phone from her bag. When Hiram answers his interlocutor, he speaks in Mandarin.

Veronica sits back and starts refreshing her internet browser, expecting the announcement to go live any second. Professor Martinelli said the newsletter would be out at _eight, sharp_.

The page loads three minutes past eight, just as her father says goodbye to whoever he’s talking to.

Veronica’s heart beats fast as she scrolls down quickly and looks for her name.

“Did they make the announcement yet?”

_It’s with pleasure and pride that the CMUNC team announces New York City’s St. Barnard’s top student **Donna Amalia Sweett** as the honored toastmaster for our opening banquet next week. The CMUNC is organized by the International Affairs department of Columbia University and will commence after the winter break. We’re looking forward to another riveting season of Model UN amongst our prestigious NYC schools. _

Her stomach drops. What— but Professor Martinelli had said—

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she starts, handing him the phone. “I don’t know what happened. Professor Martinelli called me and he—”

She feels hot tears welling behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath when her voice gets smaller — there’s one thing Hiram hates more than disappointment, and that’s _whining_.

“I really thought I’d get it,” she says, firmer, her cheeks burning.

She _really_ did. Not only because of that call — Martinelli seemed so _open_ to hear her the second time around, they had almost an hour of conversation about her views on politics and the role of the United Nations in the international community, he _really_ seemed so impressed with everything she had to say. Her grades in AP Government and Politics were _flawless_ , it’s really so _weird_ that he’d just change his mind out of nowhere.

“ _Esto es increible_.” Hiram visibly clenches his jaw, basically shoving her phone back in her hand. “I want you to call Martinelli _right now_ and ask him if he’s going to transfer back the _very_ generous donation I’ve given to his little childish project with this Model UN _joke_.”

Her breath starts to hitch with every word he says. Veronica looks across the table at him, outraged.

“You paid him off to choose me?” She asks in a small voice.

“ _Of course_. Or you think I’d sit here and wait for them to _let go_ your wild child ways? A piece of advice, Veronica, for when you step in to play hero for your mother again: learn your worth. When you’re a _Lodge_ , the things you say or do cannot be erased.”

Anger floods her body, unable to keep it inside any longer. Her nostrils flaring are an exact mirror of his.

“I’m never going to learn my worth if you just keep paying my way.” She fires at him, feeling foolish to think that she could have earned this on her own without his incessant meddling.

“You’re absolutely right. Maybe I should let go of your hand and let you fall off the wagon just like your mother did.”

Veronica feels the rise of bile in her throat, but she swallows it down, her blood boiling as she watches him. She hasn’t felt this angry at her father ever since he walked out The Pembrooke’s door.

“You haven’t been holding my hand for a long time now, _Daddy_ ,” she blurts out, standing up and leaving the bar before he can say anything.

When Veronica’s out of sight, she wipes furiously at the tears that fall down her face.

* * *

**_spotted: #veronicalodge_ ** _running from the baccarat, daddyless and speechless. didn’t anyone tell you, v? cold-hard cash can get you the cold-hard truth._

* * *

Cheryl walks through a heady cloud of Dior Poison on her way out of Thornhill, arranging for Jeeves to drive her to Donna’s and pick her up for dinner. It is their first official date in the perfect winter evening — even after a month and a half of sexcapades, nothing says “ _official”_ like their first joint-takedown. Cheryl thinks they’re both ready for that.

In any other house, Cheryl would announce this to her parents, who are sitting in the living room reading different magazines and flipping pages in almost perfect sync, but at _Chez Blossom_ talking about a _date_ with another girl would be the equivalent of a death wish.

She sighs before walking past them, her overcoat still open as she places her phone in her clutch. Her heels must give her away, because Penelope looks up from the edition of InStyle.

“ _What_ is that?” she sneers at Cheryl’s outfit.

“A dress Herve Leger sent me. I’d use one of yours, Mumsy, but your winter collection is way too drab.”

She doesn’t wait for her mother’s comeback before flipping her hair and heading out.

In the back of the car as the driver speeds along Park Avenue, Cheryl texts Donna that she’s on her way. As she rests her head against the seat, her phone buzzes in her hand.

It’s Veronica, whose invitation to Elio Grande’s big opening Cheryl had turned down for the date with Donna.

**_going to la bonne nuit… any chance you reconsidered? i'm having a shitty day with my dad and need to blow off some steam. lost the model UN speech as you already know… but congrats to donna anyway!_ **

Cheryl looks at the message for a second before her mind starts racing through the last seventy-two hours. So, the person she helped take down was _Veronica_?

Betty sits in a red booth across from Jughead.

It got late as they stumbled down the Blue and Gold’s rabbit hole of blasts. Since they were _most definitely_ going to dig into the possible identity of who is behind the Twitter account, Betty spent a majority of the afternoon _and_ the evening printing off hundreds of tweets that were posted over the years, dividing them into two separate piles for her and Jughead to review as weekend homework. After completely missing dinner, he kept complaining he was starving.

That’s how they ended up in the hole-in-the-wall eatery that he’d been talking about for _weeks_ , their hands greasy as they chew on their slices of cheese pizza. It was probably Jughead’s tenth slice, but Betty’s calorie count only allowed her two. Ok, _three_ , but no crust.

Right now, they’re stuck in a very probing discussion about Chicago _versus_ New York style. Jughead seems to remember his manners when he wipes off the tomato sauce left behind on either side of his mouth and she enjoys seeing him like this, boyish and happy.

“Deep-dish is fine too, I’ll give you that,” Jughead says. He’s got his leg propped up on the leather seat. Betty lifts one eyebrow. “Listen, I’m a New Yorker, yes, but I don’t discriminate against pizza!”

“Deep-dish isn’t even pizza, Jug. It’s a _pie_.” She chuckles. Her phone beeps, vibrating on the table. She sets her pizza slice down, trying to dab the excess grease off with the thin napkin before checking her notification.

“So, what’s your cruise director got planned for the weekend?” Jughead asks, garbled with a mouthful of pizza. Betty can’t help but laugh.

“It’s… I kinda told Veronica that I’d go with her to this _speakeasy_ opening thing,” Betty says. “I feel bad for not wanting to go. She’s… We’ve been through a lot, as I’m guessing you know,” Betty sighs in a confessional tone. Jughead nods. “She’s really done more than extend the olive branch and we are in a really good place, but sometimes I feel like… We don’t have the same idea about what _having fun_ means.”

Between booking them hers-and-hers mani-pedis and suggesting a spontaneous trip over holiday break, Veronica has been doing her part to make up for the time they lost. The commitment and effort to keep her word was heartwarming, but Betty was more than content to snuggle up on her couch and watch movies the other night.

“You seemed pretty excited about that masquerade ball.”

“I was! I love going out with V, and Cheryl, and the girls, but… There’s this _big_ part of me that just prefers spending my Friday night watching True Crime and eating cookie dough. Don’t tell my mom about the cookie dough part.”

His light eyes soften at her confession, biting off a chunk of his crust. “You don’t have to go, Betts. People won’t like you less for not doing what they want you to.”

“Noted, Mr. No-One-Knows-Who-I-Am,” Betty teases. Jughead smiles with a slight roll of his eyes. She wonders if she _should_ talk about what’s on her mind, given it’s a little embarrassing to admit things to Jughead of all people, but there is something about him that inspires her trust. “It’s just… Kinda weird without Archie. We used to go to this kind of stuff together and now I think back and I wonder if I was doing that for myself or if I was just… There. With him. I don’t know.”

The more intently he listens to her, the more she hopes he’s not getting the wrong idea. She’s not _hung up_ on Archie, it’s just strange not to be attached to him anymore. There’s an overpowering want to make sure Jughead doesn’t think the former. “I don’t have a lot of experience dating someone my entire life, but I can imagine how… _Crazy,_ it might be, when you’re one instead of two.”

When he leans his head in like he’s listening for some secret, it makes her feel like maybe he does get what she’s trying to say. “Yeah. I’m just scared that this _way_ I'm feeling will end up pushing people away, you know? Especially Veronica, because she’s sacrificed so much for our friendship.”

“From what you’ve told me, you’ve _both_ made some pretty big sacrifices. I think that, if your friendship is strong enough, it’s going to take more than one speakeasy opening gone wrong to change that.”

Betty ponders. “That’s probably the wise approach to this.”

“I told you, you didn’t hire me for my looks.” He offers her a crooked smile.

She ends up biting her lower lip. There’s a lock of black hair falling out of his beanie.

“Well, I _could_ have hired you for your looks,” she says. Jughead seems a little taken aback with her response but, without giving him any time to speak, she pulls out her baby blue Kate Spade wallet and fishes out a twenty. “This one’s on me.”

Betty walks up to the register. Handing the cashier her bill, she looks over her shoulder to the table where he’s definitely still a little confused.

There’s a warmth that spreads through her body, cheeks feeling it, too. _What the hell was that, Betty Cooper?_ She asks herself, hoping that she wasn’t too forward back there. It could definitely be mistaken as _flirting_ and that wasn’t something— _ok_ , _Veronica_ flirted all the time, with everyone, but that wasn’t something Betty normally did. Ever.

Betty drops her change into the tips jar and finds him sipping from his soda cup at their table. Jughead seems to have gotten over whatever she said two minutes ago. “So, about True Crime… Have you watched The Killing?” he asks.

“Oh, my God, yes! But it totally should have ended in the third season.”

“Totally.”

Jughead holds the door open for her to exit the pizza place. They fall easily in step and conversation. Betty only realizes he’s walking her home when they’re half-way there.

Andre opens the door for her and Veronica steps out onto the red carpet lining Christie Street. There’s somewhat of a buzz in the line, photograph flashes coming from everywhere. Elio Grande, as expected, is waiting for her outside. He’s wearing a purple shirt under his Zegna suit, his hand extended, but Veronica ignores it.

“Where are your friends?” he asks when Andre closes the door.

“It’s just me,” Veronica says, holding her Alexander McQueen clutch against her body. She didn’t change after seeing Hiram, just came straight from The Baccarat, dressed a lot like _daddy’s little girl_ in her modest COS leather shift dress and her hair pinned up off her face, a string of pearls around her neck.

It _is_ just her. Reggie was busy, Kevin couldn’t come, Betty didn’t want to, Cheryl didn’t answer.

“Are you ok?” Elio probably senses her discomfort. Takes one _wild child_ to recognize the other.

“I just want to escape,” she says. They bypass the line and the bouncer unclips the velvet rope for them to walk through the brass doors.

She feels Elio’s smirk in his voice. “You’ve come to the right place.”

Cheryl’s heart is racing when Jeeves pulls over in front of Donna’s building. Stepping out into the wintry air with a spiked stiletto, she shoots an icy look at the girl waiting for her on the sidewalk.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Blossom,” Donna says, smiling, all dimples. She frowns when Cheryl doesn’t smile back, moving closer. “Is everything ok?”

“Tell me you didn’t know it was Veronica.”

Donna looks surprised for the _slightest_ moment before knitting her eyebrows together and letting out a laugh. “What? What are you talking about?”

“The speech, Sweett. Tell me you didn’t know that I was helping take Veronica down.”

Donna looks at Cheryl for long enough that it becomes clear. Her expression falls but she keeps her chin up. _Of course, she knew._

“I asked you point blank if you knew who the competitor was. You said no. You manipulated me into betraying my friend after I opened up to you about her,” Cheryl says between her teeth.

“I knew you wouldn’t have helped if I told— I was _desperate_ , ok?” Donna lightly pinches the bridge of her nose, blue eyes nearly pleading as she explains. “This speech was _really_ important to me and I need—”

“That’s enough.” Cheryl lifts one hand, signaling for Donna to stop talking. The other girl swallows her words as Cheryl feels her eyes welling up.

“Cheryl, c’mon. Can’t we just talk this through? I’m _sorry_ , but you know if you were in my position—”

“If I was in your position I would have gotten that speech myself. Alone. Not using you and breaking your confidence,” Cheryl blinks away her tears. “You’re dismissed. _For good._ ”

For a second, the brunette looks hurt, feigning bewilderment at her words. But then she inches just a bit closer and levels her eyes to Cheryl’s.

“You’re on my street right now, don’t for one second think that you can come here and dismiss me.” She bites, any previous remorse gone from her face.

Cheryl lifts up an eyebrow. “ _My_ street,” she tells Donna, turning around and slipping into the car when Jeeves opens the door.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _two royals caught in the middle of a quarrel. donna’s stay in the tower of rose-covered thornhill came to an end, and now she’s destined for the dungeons. better stay silent, sweettie. if we know the red queen, she’s not one to let things lie._

* * *

Her car pulls up to the once-seedy establishment. She briefly tosses her name to the man with the clipboard, who allows her to move inside without any questions. A man in a tux takes her coat and gives her a ticket.

She walks into a bar, but the real deal seems to be beneath her feet, where the music blasting makes the ground jump. Cheryl follows the flow to a staircase and, a few steps down, she can see the speakeasy and its Doll Face atmosphere.

Veronica stands at the bar. She’s talking to Elio Grande over the counter, both sipping champagne from flutes, eyes glued to the stage where some girls are performing a classy cabaret number.

“Well, well, I told you this was something.” Cheryl approaches them and interrupts their conversation. Elio smiles at her in recognition and taps on the counter, turning around to speak to one of the bartenders.

“Cher!” Veronica exclaims, wrapping a slender arm around her waist. “You came!”

“Where else would I be?” She tilts her head to the side.

“I didn’t hear back from you, so I thought you and Donna were on your date.”

Cheryl still feels the pulse of her heart in her throat but ignores it. She can’t believe that an hour ago she was thinking of going steady with someone who stooped _so low_. “That’s old news.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow in question, forehead creasing in concern. “What? Do you want to talk about this?”

Cheryl shakes her head. “No, I don’t.” She signals for one of the carefully selected bartenders to take her drink. “How about your night with your father? Do you want to talk about that?”

“No.” Veronica chuckles humorlessly. “Though I _will_ say, I am sick of trying so fucking hard to please him and never getting what I want. It’s like history doomed to repeat itself every time he pushes me.”

“Stop this. You go above and beyond to do what he expects, but I’ve missed seeing your teeth, V. It’s refreshing.” Cheryl places a hand over Veronica’s, resting atop the mahogany. “And for what it’s worth, you really deserved that speech.” Cheryl’s words taste bitter in her mouth when she remembers what went down.

But Veronica shakes her head. “ _Old Veronica_ wouldn’t be so upset about this fucking speech. She’d be up there putting those girls to shame. _New Veronica_ feels like a failure right about now.”

Cheryl smirks at her, seeing the hurt in Veronica’s eyes. It’s a shame, because it should be replaced with the sparkle she’s always admired. “I really liked _Old Veronica_.”

Veronica smiles a little wickedly at that. She sets her glass down on the bar, “Guard my drink.”

Cheryl whips her head to follow in the direction where Veronica is going and watches as she carelessly unpins her raven hair, joining the group of corset-covered performers.

The music sounds a little louder and Cheryl feels it reverberate right through her. Veronica starts moving her hips in the center of the stage and it’s impossible to look away.

Suddenly, someone stands by her side. Cheryl just vaguely knows it’s Elio, who’s watching what’s happening in his establishment, as everyone else around them. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he says, amused.

The crowd starts cheering for Veronica, prompting her to tease them with a swing of her pearls before dragging a hand down the side of her dress. There are a few deafening whistles when the motion turns into her unzipping the leather material covering her.

She’s surrounded by dancers and the stage tech has put the best lighting on her and Cheryl can’t help but clap, seeing her old friend come to life right before her eyes.

Veronica pulls off her dress and lets the leather gather at her feet, stunning the audience in her form-fitting slip and stockings. She moves to face the wall, leaving her back to the audience when she playfully pushes the straps of her slip over a shoulder, dark nail tapping along her skin.

There’s _something_ entirely new coursing through Cheryl, who’s watching Veronica, mesmerized as the stage lights hit her.

Veronica bends down to make a show of her touching her legs, dragging a hand up her stockings and snapping a garter clip against her thigh. She meets Cheryl’s gaze and smiles wickedly under the spotlight, laughing a little as she flips her hair. Her hands find her pearls, tugging them over her head and tossing them right to the redhead.

Cheryl surprisingly catches the necklace and they both laugh, eyes meeting through the lights and the crowd. There’s not much Cheryl can do but raise her champagne glass to praise what she just witnessed.

* * *

_as you might have guessed, upper east siders, prohibition never stood a chance against exhibition. it’s human nature to be free. and no matter how long you try to be good, you can’t keep a bad girl down._

* * *

Archie and Toni wait, expectantly, for Fred to watch the video on the living room television. In the screen, Archie sees himself playing _Black Balloon_ by Goo Goo Dolls, the cover they ended up choosing. It’s _really_ weird to watch himself on video, but somewhat gratifying when he glances at his father and sees a content smile on his face.

“Wow,” Fred looks impressed once the song is over. “This sounds really good, Arch,” he gives Archie a pat on his shoulder.

Toni smiles as she unplugs her camera from the television. “Well, since we all agree that Archie nailed this, I’ll edit it a little so we can upload. And you,” she points at Archie, “need to create the account. Remember what I told you, just your name, nothing too complicated.”

“Will do,” Archie says. It hits him, suddenly, that Toni is gathering her stuff to leave. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay, Toni? Pizza must be on its way.”

“It’s Friday night, Rzeznik,” she says with an eyebrow up. Archie frowns, confused, and Fred chuckles as he moves down to the kitchen. “I’ve got plans.”

“ _Oh._ Oh, yeah.” Archie feels a rush of blood come up to his cheekbones. He probably _is_ the only one avoiding all weekend outings so he won’t bump into a certain raven-haired girl. “Of course.”

“Maybe next time,” Toni smiles, moving towards the door. “I’ll text you when this is ready.”

“Ok. Cool,” Archie wipes his hands on his jeans and opens the door for her. “Thank you. For doing all of this, I mean.”

“What can I say, Red? I believe in your potential,” she touches his arm in a brief gesture. “See you around. Bye, Mr. Andrews!”

“Bye, Toni,” Fred answers, still somewhat amused. “Nice girl,” he adds, as soon as Archie closes the door.

“Yeah, she is,” Archie says, moving towards the counter. He’s happy with what they did today although he’s still a little unsure of putting himself out there so vocally. “Did you really like the song?”

“Are you kidding me? I loved it! Did I ever tell you that I saw the Goo Goo Dolls live once?”

Archie raises his eyebrows. “What? No way!”

“Yeah. 1996, up in Canada,” he says with a nostalgic smile. “Your mother and I drove all the way up to Banff to the Snow Job festival. Good times.”

There’s a wistful shade on his dad’s face. Archie wants to enjoy the story — he always loves hearing his father talk about his younger years — but it always makes him even more sure that Fred had never gotten over his broken marriage. He wonders if his dad _can_ get over it.

Is it even possible to get over someone you loved with your whole heart?

Veronica rests her head against the limo’s leather seat. She feels infinitely better than she did after leaving her father, and a lot drunker too. Her dress is still somewhere on the floor of La Bonne Nuit. She’s not freezing because Andre turned up the heat before closing the partition between them.

“This is not what I expected for tonight,” Cheryl says beside her. She’s got Veronica’s pearls on and she also forgot her coat in the establishment. Elio would take care of their things.

Maybe.

“Honestly,” Veronica laughs lightly, watching the city lights whirl by outside the car, “me neither.”

She looks over to her friend, eyes on her with a finger looped around the pearls.

“I’ve gotta say, I’m not looking forward to being the Blue and Gold’s top story tomorrow.” Veronica sighs.

Cheryl scoots a little closer across the bench seat, hip now touching hers. “Let’s not worry about tomorrow, today. Ok?”

Veronica raises an eyebrow, “Cher, it’s past midnight—”

“Shut up,” Cheryl says, jokingly. “Besides, we haven’t gone to sleep yet.”

Veronica is definitely a little inebriated as she stares back into Cheryl’s eyes but she can sense something there, breath hitching just a little when the redhead twirls a raven curl around her finger.

“You were truly incredible out there, V.”

Veronica doesn’t move for a second. She wonders if what she thinks is happening is _really_ happening — not because Cheryl is a girl, since she’s been with girls before, but because Cheryl is _Cheryl_. They’re friends. They’re best friends, even. Should they cross this line? Does the look even mean _that_?

Her heart starts beating faster. There’s also… Well. There’s Archie. But there’s always been Archie, right? It’s possible that she will never get over him. And she’s already spent so much time just — _waiting_ — but —

She’s already kissing Cheryl before she can complete her thought, lips brushing, pulses racing. Cheryl pulls back a little and they both open their eyes. “Is this what you want?”

 _Fuck it_.

Veronica crashes her mouth against Cheryl’s, feeling her hand on her face, Veronica’s own hand diving into the soft red waves of Cheryl’s hair. Her lips are full and her tongue is hot against hers and she smells _so_ good, like the Dior perfume she’s always used.

Cheryl takes the initiative and moves to sit forward, hands starting to roam Veronica’s body. Her red nails scratch lightly along her curves and the sensation is nearly too much.

She breathes a little heavier when Cheryl’s lips move down the column of her neck, imagining the red lipstick left in her wake. Veronica keeps her grip on the red locks in her hands, holding her steady as Cheryl kisses her.

One sharp red nail moves to the strap of her slip, dragging it slowly down Veronica’s bare shoulder. She opens her eyes and watches the darkness flicker in Cheryl’s and loses herself to the feel of lips trailing down her chest.

“Yes,” Veronica breathes out. “This is what I want.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hiding from the varchies behind whoever supports cheronica lol* LISTEN, everything will be okay! But did we just use Chuck and Blair's iconic scene for Cheryl and Veronica? Yes, we did. While Vik isn't a fan of the CB couple and Em likes them a little more, we recognize the best of their relationship, which is their S1 banter, and we want to play around. Just another way to show you guys that it's impossible to categorize the characters in RVD with the characters in GG! We're using everything that seems to fit ;) But listen, it's a slow burn for some couples in here, and yeah. Can't apologize anymore because they're HOT lol.
> 
> How will Archie react? Is there anything brewing with him and Toni or are we just addicted to drama? And what did you think of the Bughead build up? Can they find out who the Blue and Gold is? Will Donna retaliate? You'll see.
> 
> Thank you for reading and all the amazing support. We haven't answered the comments from last chapter except for quick thank yous, but we will go back to doing that throughout the week. LOVE YOU GUYS. xoxo
> 
> Playlist for this chapter (that we love):
> 
>   * One Week of Danger - The Virgins (song ad the beginning, limo ride scene, cheronica's theme over all)
>   * Bang Bang Bang Bang - Sohodolls (donna and cheryl's scenes)
>   * You've Got Me Running in Circles - Sonny Cleveland (song in the jukebox)
>   * Black Balloon - Goo Goo Dolls (archie's cover)
>   * Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs (bughead's ending scene)
>   * Stripper - Sohodolls (because, of course)
> 



	8. #naughtyornice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. We are back with another juicy chapter, this time with some Christmas on the side. It was a conscious decision, not to give a lot of emphasis on Thanksgiving (like GG always did) and do Christmas instead, and we're very happy with the results.
> 
> Last chapter, Cheronica's moment made some Varchies sad, but well, MULTISHIP, MULTICHARACTERS, right? Hehe. No one should give up on us! We're brewing something nice, we like to think. Oh, this chapter goes up to 15k. We know it's a long one, but hey, there was a lot to talk about! Without further do, hope you guys enjoy the chapter and thank you for the amazing response! 💋

**— shout when you wanna get off the ride —**

_season’s greetings, upper east siders — the most wonderful time of the year is finally upon us. along with the holiday festivities, comes the spence-stonewall bazaar, organized by queen **#cherylblossom** , where the only things bizarre are the baked goods for sale. _

_as expected, **#bettycooper** ’s cupcakes are a flavorful bite. **#veronicalodge** is prancing around with her basket of candy canes. perhaps she’ll make more money from sweets than from the performance nearly bearing all her treats. the hockey team is selling their legendary brownies. as for our stand? look for the one with the most delicious snowflake tea steeping._

* * *

“So… We’ve got chocolate, vanilla, or red velvet.” Jughead shows off the tray in front of him. It’s half-covered with cupcakes, all nicely decorated with dark blue frosting and some edible gold sprinkles, Spence-Stonewall colors. “Pick your poison.”

They all look delicious and Archie knows Betty loves to bake. She did pay some extra attention to the presentation this year. “Definitely chocolate,” he easily chooses.

Archie retrieves his wallet and takes out a dollar bill, handing it over in exchange for the dessert. Jughead takes the money and Betty shoots him a bright smile. She looks happy with her elf headband — Betty’s always been a Christmas enthusiast. “Thank you, Arch. Your dollar will be a direct donation to the Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital.”

Jughead chuckles. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”

Betty's cheeks go pink. “ _Because_ , Juggie, it’s a good cause,” she retorts professionally. “We should keep it meaningful.”

Archie narrows his eyes a little, capturing _something_ about their exchange, the way Jughead’s grin gives something up. Archie feels a teasing smile come to him very subtly. “Well, in that case, I’ll take another one to-go,” he says, giving them another dollar. Betty tosses Jughead a victorious look and hands Archie another cupcake, this time in a brown paper bag. “Thanks, guys.”

The Spence-Stonewall bazaar is traditionally held on the last Monday before Christmas, an annual fundraiser that allows students a day without classes. The whole school is decorated in green, red, and twinkle lights, while different organizations line the courtyard with tables topped with baked goods and hot beverages.

Archie was pleased to submit his final English paper online last night and not have to worry about it today. The bazaar has become something he looks forward to every year because it marks the beginning of the holiday break.

His shift at the hockey team’s stand doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes so, securing his cupcakes, he completes his lap. Thankfully, the wind is minimal in the crowded courtyard as he makes his way to the end of the tables, where Reggie is shouting out promotions for brownies. The line forming to buy them is outstanding.

“You know, I do have a _special batch_ …” Reggie says in a quiet voice, to a girl that starts giggling when he offers her a flirty smile. Archie shakes his head, half-amused, half-disapproving, and proceeds to sit at one of the courtyard stone tables. He doesn’t have to deal with Reggie’s special batch until it’s his turn.

Despite the cold air, the sun is shining and the sky is blue. Archie takes one of his cupcakes and eyes the edible gold suspiciously for one second — while he’s aware of Betty’s baking skills, he also wonders if blue food coloring is something that should exist. The thought doesn’t last long before he bites into the cake. It’s delicious, as expected.

The freshmen choir is singing _Santa Baby_ on the school steps, wearing identical reindeer antlers. He eats his cupcake peacefully as he watches their performance.

“ _Oh,_ Santa Baby, thank you for the show,” one of the guys on the hockey team, calls from the brownie stand. Archie turns his head to see that Veronica is passing by them, all dressed in red with a Santa hat on top of her raven waves. “It was like an early Christmas gift.”

Archie watches them carefully. Reggie is there, and he’s doing the same thing, so Archie doesn’t think he needs to get up to defend her honor just yet.

“No one fills a stocking like Veronica Lodge.”

Veronica tilts her head towards the stand, a false, sweet smile on her lips. “Oh, Graham, too bad I’m too much of a woman for your tiny stocking to handle.”

The team explodes in laughter at her comeback, some even clap. Archie ends up laughing too. She seems to notice it, moving closer to where he is, swaying her hips with the candy cane basket on her forearm.

“Mind if I sit?”

He shakes his head and scoots over on the bench to give her some room, a smile still on his lips.

“So, did you watch it, too?” She asks him, quite boldly, as she rests the basket by her side. “The _show_?”

Archie feels his ears turn hot at her piercing gaze, shifting a little uncomfortably. He _did_ watch it — it was impossible not to, since the video made its way from Twitter to the hockey team group chat — but, still, considering where they stand in their resolutions, maybe they shouldn’t be talking about any of the effects Veronica stripping down to her lingerie might have incited in him.

“Um… Isn’t that dangerous territory?” He finds himself asking.

She looks away, briefly. “Ok, ok. No questions I _don’t_ want the answer to.”

Archie watches her for a second, dreading any awkwardness between them. “Cupcake?” He offers the bag holding the second one he bought.

Veronica bites back a smile with her teeth on her lip. Her lashes are really long when she bats them. “Thank you, but I already ordered half a dozen. They’re Smithers’ favorites, you know.”

He chuckles, putting the bag back on his other side. “They’re the only baked goods we can trust in this place.”

She throws her head back in laughter. “I was going to support you guys by purchasing a brownie but didn’t want to _accidentally_ get one of Reggie’s special ones.” Veronica raises a brow mischievously, leaning in a little closer. “Remember when Ollie sold us one?”

Archie cracks up at the memory. He can basically see it play out before his eyes — they were freshmen, and Veronica was in the choir back then, wearing the felt antlers. She ran down the steps quite jumpy, grabbed his hand to pull him to the brownie stand where Reggie’s brother awaited with a _promise_. _Come, come, Archiekins!_

“How could I forget? It was the first time I got high. Betty was so pissed at me.”

“At _you?_ Pissed at us!” Veronica keeps laughing. “Every time she tried to scold us we would erupt into a fit of giggles.”

When their laughter subsides, he watches her expression soften. He misses those moments a lot. The nostalgia in her eyes just shows that she misses them too. If only it was still so easy.

He takes a breath, looking away to the half eaten cupcake in his hand. “So, what are you doing for Christmas?”

Veronica sighs. “It’ll probably just be me and my mom at the hotel. Though, the renovations at The Pembrooke are apparently moving along, so maybe I’ll have a home again next year.”

Archie smiles a little. He kind of understands going from place to place between his parents, but he can’t imagine what it’s like living in a hotel, no matter how nice.

“What about you?” She asks.

“My dad and I will probably enjoy some attempt at lasagna in front of the TV, watching A Christmas Story.”

She smiles warmly at his answer, torn from his gaze when her phone starts buzzing. “Oh, I’ve got to run. But first,” she takes one of her candy canes and extends it to him. Archie reaches out, but she pulls it back, “a dollar, sir.”

He doesn’t hide his smile, helplessly getting his wallet and giving her a bill.

“Thanks,” she grins, giving him the candy cane and pocketing the money. Archie watches as she gets up, collecting her things. “Merry Christmas, Archiekins.”

The nickname makes him bite back his stupid grin. “Merry Christmas, Ronnie.”

“Hey, Ronnie?” She turns slightly to look at him. “I _did_ watch your performance. You looked great up there.” Archie has no clue where this rush of confidence came from, but the way she presses her lips together in a thin line before walking away makes him feel like it was the right thing to say.

“That’s the fourth cupcake you’ve eaten. Aren’t you thinking about the children?” Betty tries to scold Jughead, but it comes out more endearing than she intends. He has blue frosting on his lips — it’s useless to pretend she’s _really_ mad at him.

“I’m just making sure you’re not trying to poison our colleagues, Betts.”

“Only if the Blue and Gold stopped by our stand. Do you know they criticized me for using _their brand_ for my frosting? These are literally our school colors!”

Jughead keeps chewing. They made some progress during the weekend with the blasts they printed out on Friday, but there was nothing concrete yet — of course, Veronica was the most discussed topic _at first_ , but quickly the spotlight also turned to Cheryl, and girls from other schools. Only after a couple of months the Blue and Gold started to report on the boys too. Betty herself became a hashtag after almost a whole semester passed, her first appearance linked to when Polly passed her crown on.

He swallows, groaning his appreciation for her confectioneries. “I think I need some hot chocolate. Will you be ok here for a minute?”

Betty sighs. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

Jughead smiles softly at her, placing both hands on her shoulders for a moment. “I _am_ ,” he says as he presses a little firmer. “We’re gonna find out who they are and we’re going to expose them. The paper will be ok. But… It’s the Christmas bazaar. Your cupcakes are great. We need to enjoy this a little bit.”

“Get me a hot chocolate too, then,” she says with a slight pout of her mouth. Jughead’s smile widens.

“You got it, boss.”

Betty’s eyes follow as Jughead walks towards the hot chocolate stand, hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a different jacket today, red and black plaid, and it looks good on him.

“Betty Cooper.” A sickeningly sweet voice startles her slightly.

“Oh. Hey, Cheryl,” she greets at the redhead, motioning to the cupcakes on display. “We’ve got chocolate, vanilla, and…”

“Red velvet, _obvi_. Now, we need to have a word.”

“Sure,” Betty eyes her friend suspiciously, picking up the chosen cupcake.

Cheryl’s brown eyes meet hers as Betty prepares herself for whatever she’s about to say.

“I need you to go shopping with me before Christmas.”

Betty can’t help but blurt out a laugh at the seriousness in Cheryl’s voice. She needs a _shopping buddy_? Sure, last year, with Veronica gone, Betty and Cheryl ended up having a good time buying gifts, but _this year_ she’s got her hands full and all of her packages will be shipped to her house by Friday.

“Cher, I have a lot go—”

Cheryl sets her jaw. “Make no mistake, I will _gladly_ ask a minion to go in your place, Betty. But then that’s _it_. If you’re out, you’re out.”

That almost makes Betty scoff like every time Cheryl hits her with these hollow threats about their friendship. She wishes she could just say _yeah whatever_ , but she knows Cheryl wouldn’t take that lightly. “Why don’t you ask V? You have similar tastes and last year you only invited me because—”

“ _No._ It _can’t_ be Veronica. It _has_ to be _you._ ” Cheryl says, adamantly.

Betty heaves out a breath. “Ok. Fine. But _I’ll_ text you when I can dedicate a day. I’m leaving this weekend.”

The redhead smiles as she does when she gets her way, a smile Betty has seen too many times. “Perfect. I shall expect your message. Thanks for the treat.”

Cheryl gives her a dollar for the cupcake and leaves with a _toodles!_ Betty almost rolls her eyes at the minions following in Cheryl’s wake, moving through the courtyard to inspect the stands. That’s when Jughead comes back, almost just in time, extending a recyclable cup of hot chocolate.

“Does she still _miss you_?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Betty thinks about her relationship with two of the Blue and Gold’s favorite queens, her best friends. Who better to ask about their suspicions on the anonymous news source? “Yeah. I think I might need to take a little shopping trip with her. I might even end up with a lead for our case, Jug.”

“There you go,” Veronica hands over the last three candy canes. “That’ll be three dollars.”

A senior wrestler hands her a ten and she brushes off the way his eyes roam. “How much for a private performance?”

She’s been ready for _this_ type of comment since waking up Saturday morning to the Blue and Gold blast, complete with a _video_ of her show at La Bonne Nuit, bracing herself for the inevitable asshats trying to degrade her. Placing the ten with the rest of the funds raised, she rolls her eyes and starts to leave. “Consider your change a charitable contribution, paying for your misogynistic implication.”

Veronica swings the wicker basket and walks in the direction to meet Betty. She spots Cheryl and the girls exiting the courtyard, probably to make a pit stop to the ladies room, and she realizes she hasn’t even spoken to Cheryl yet today.

After everything happened on Friday, Andre dropped the redhead off at Thornhill and Veronica crawled right into her own bed at the Five Seasons after removing her makeup and sipping an ice water. She didn’t hear from Cheryl all weekend, not that she really knew what to say if she’d reached out.

But… they had sex. Pretty good sex. Probably _rebound_ sex, since Cheryl had just broken up with Donna, although the reasons for that are still unclear. But that doesn’t bother Veronica — sex is sex, rebound or not, and it’s a fine thing that happens sometimes, even between friends.

Veronica thinks maybe it doesn’t need to be so different from the arrangement she had with Reggie before leaving, except Reggie never avoided her. And she never avoided Reggie. But she’s not _really_ avoiding Cheryl, she’s just following her lead, although they should, at some point, talk about it. Maybe.

Veronica sighs when Cheryl is out of sight. At least all of this helps her take her mind off _Archie_ and the constant flutter in her stomach after their conversation. She expected him to watch her little act, almost _wanted_ him to, but she never expected him to admit to it — and so boldly. Which shouldn’t matter, since she made a promise to her best friend who’s walking towards her right now, and the last thing she needs is metaphorical butterflies flapping their insistent red wings.

Betty bounds over to her like a ray of sun, all smiles as she hands over the box of cupcakes. “I marked the ones for Smithers — there’s one for you and your mom, too.”

“Thanks, B.” Veronica hands Betty a twenty and insists she keep it. “So, I’ve been thinking. How about a trip to SoHo this week? I still need a few things on my list and I thought we could make a day of it.”

“Why does everyone suddenly want to go shopping with me?” Betty narrows one suspicious eye.

“Oh, c’mon, it will be fun!” Veronica reaches out to hold both Betty’s hands. “We didn’t get the chance to do this last year. I just want us to spend time together!”

“Ok.” Betty ends up smiling. “I’ll see what I can manage. I do have a lot to do before leaving for my grandparents’.”

“ _Yay!”_ Veronica hooks her arm around Betty’s. “Are you free to go home now or do you have to wait for _him?”_ She wiggles her eyebrows insinuating to the beanie-wearing boy cleaning up the cupcake stand.

“Juggie said he’d finish up. We can go.” Betty bites her lip and her green eyes are a little brighter as she watches him.

 _Oh._ Oh?

“Ok,” Veronica starts. “But, you know, it would be nice to get an actual introduction to _Juggie_ one day.”

“What?” Betty’s cheeks are suddenly rosier. “You can swing by the Register to meet him anytime, I told you already…”

“Well, that’s convenient. Considering we’ll be on break for the next three weeks.” Veronica jokes.

Betty blushes just slightly and looks at her hands. “Do you wanna share a cab or is Andre around?”

Definitely _oh_.

“Andre is around.”

“Toni told me she’s going to upload your video on Friday,” Jughead says as they walk together crossing Park Avenue, heading towards the 86th Street station to go back to Brooklyn after the bazaar is over.

“Yeah. I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea, not gonna lie, but…” Archie shrugs, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “Did you watch it?”

“I did. Song choice was a little too _nineties_ for me, but I’m sure all of the golden boy fans are gonna love it,” he teases.

“Or hate it. Probably no middle ground.” Archie lets out a self-deprecating laugh as they swipe their MetroCards. “So, any plans for the holidays? Are you visiting your mom?”

“No, and she’s not coming, either. I feel kind of bad for Jellybean because she’s going to cook, but I’m actually grateful that we don’t have to spend any time with _Gene_ ,” he says, almost cringing, like he always does whenever he talks about his mom’s husband. “Last year, they were around. It was a nightmare.”

“I can imagine,” Archie says. Jughead protects himself from the wind once they’re at the platform. “At least you have Jellybean.”

He’s about to respond that _yes, she certainly helps_ , but he’s torn from his thoughts when a text appears on his phone. From Betty.

**_did i wish you a good break? i hope i did. thanks for helping me at the stand today. i’ll text if cheryl proves herself useful ;)_ **

Jughead can feel the smile stretching across his face. He’s about to answer her, but then he remembers, with a pang of guilt, who’s with him waiting for the train. He looks up at Archie, who’s staring back at him just a tad suspiciously.

“Sorry, it’s just Betty.” Jughead pockets his phone again. “What were you saying?”

A crooked smile comes to Archie’s mouth. “So, what’s going on with you two? Is there something happening there?”

Archie’s face seems sincere. Of course, Jughead doesn’t think he’d ask at all if the question meant _anything else_ , but he still feels uncomfortable. He fidgets a bit in his spot. “No. _No_ , no. we’re just friends. She texts me a lot because of the paper, and she thinks she’s kind of onto something with this new case but—”

Archie raises an eyebrow at him, smiling almost expectantly.

“—nothing else. I haven’t forgotten she’s your ex-girlfriend,” he promises. It’s almost a relief to say it, since it’s something that’s been on his mind lately, more often than not. It didn’t matter if Betty smiled at him frequently or how beautiful she looked this morning with her green coat making her eyes pop, or how amazing her cupcakes were, or how she made sure he took at least five of them home, or that sometimes she’d say stuff that could be considered flirting, by others. She is Archie’s ex-girlfriend, Archie is his friend, and that’s how it ended.

His friend’s expression changes then, from enthusiastic to mildly confused.

“I’m aware of the bro code,” Jughead explains.

The train arrives. There’s some awkward silence between them as they wait for people to leave the wagon so they can walk into it.

“Dude,” Archie says as soon as the door closes and the noise diminishes. “It’s ok if you guys… Honestly, I think you and Betty would be great together.”

“You… You do?”

“Yeah, Jug.” Archie smiles, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Archie doesn’t seem like the guy who would lie about this. Jughead breathes out, weirdly relieved, when a grimace comes to Archie’s face. “Oh, fuck. Now I owe Reggie twenty bucks,” he says. “He bet that you had a thing for Betty and I said you didn’t.”

Jughead ends up chuckling. “I guess I’ll buy you a burger tonight, then.”

On Thursday, just after she has brunch with Elio (who does return her dropped clothes), Andre drops Veronica off on Broadway in front of Bloomingdale’s. The traffic was surprisingly forgiving, so she’s a little early to meet Betty for a day of shopping in Soho.

Veronica busies herself with her phone, checking her email and reviewing her list of gifts to buy today. The minutes tick by and it’s not very Betty-like to be late. She scans the street another time and inhales a bit sharply when a flurry of red becomes a focal point in her peripheral.

“Cheryl?” She asks aloud.

It’s somewhat satisfying to see the redhead just as shocked, faltering for only a second before regaining composure. She opens her mouth then shuts it again.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Cheryl lifts one eyebrow. Even from a small distance, Veronica can smell the heady scent of her Dior perfume, the same one still lingering in the back of the limo.

It’s kind of disconcerting.

“I’m meeting with Betty,” Veronica says with a frown, after a beat. “We’re doing some late-Christmas shopping.”

“Well, that’s not possible, since _I’m_ meeting with Betty and _we’re_ doing some late-Christmas shopping.”

Veronica narrows her eyes. Could it be possible that Betty Cooper _double-booked_ them? Surely not _intentionally_ , since her best friend is devout to her hour-by-hour planner.

“Girls! Good! You’re both here!”

Veronica whips around to see her blonde best friend, looking awfully cheerful for someone who just orchestrated this uncomfortable situation. Her gaze meets with Cheryl’s for a moment. She’s looking at Betty with the same discontent, narrowed eyes Veronica has.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t give me _that_ look,” Betty says, hooking her arm around Cheryl’s and then around Veronica’s. “I told you I had little to no time. Plus, the three of us haven’t done anything together in ages! It will be fun.”

Veronica glances over at Cheryl as they walk into the department store. The redhead is looking away.

“Should we start with makeup?” The blonde smiles brightly and turns to head towards the glass counters, ponytail bouncing behind her.

Veronica takes a deep breath. “Anything for you, Betty Cooper.”

* * *

**_spotted: #cherylblossom_ ** _, **#veronicalodge** and **#bettycooper** shopping in soho. it’s been far too long since these uptown girls have maxed out their american excess cards downtown. we’re glad to see that our queens have their handmaiden back. she was getting a little dusty, just like that office she inhabits._

* * *

Betty put her phone on silent after reading a new Blue and Gold blast about their shopping trip. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, tightening her fists a little more. Cheryl, sitting by her side on the white couch, has her legs crossed and her foot hanging in the air, shaking impatiently. They’re in the fitting room waiting for Veronica to try on some dresses.

“What do you think about the Blue and Gold?” She asks, bluntly.

Cheryl doesn’t flinch. She keeps looking down at her phone. Betty can see she’s on Instagram, not Twitter, scrolling past different posts without liking any. “It’s marvelous entertainment and a worthy news source. Why?"

“Have you noticed anything _different_ about their posts lately? Particularly how it seems a lot more of their digs have been at me?”

Cheryl slips her own phone back in her red Balenciaga, pursing her lips and looking irritated as she waits.

“Have they?” She asks with apparent faux concern. “Maybe they have good reason. You haven’t really been your usually sweet self lately.”

Betty can’t help scoff at her friend. Cheryl is typically uninterested in anything that doesn’t involve her directly, but quick to suggest Betty brought this on herself. Cheryl looks over at her calculatingly.

“What? I invited you to shop today and you had an oversight with your schedule, combining two appointments in one,” she fires back at Betty’s hurt expression. “ _After_ I _specifically_ said I just wanted it to be the two of us.”

“Is this really so bad, Cheryl? You love Veron—”

“I still haven’t found the perfect gift for Nana Rose and here we are waiting for Veronica, as always, to try on even more dresses she doesn’t need.”

Betty looks sideways at the redhead. “What is going on with you two today?”

Cheryl huffs dramatically and inspects a red nail, about to say something when Veronica pulls back the curtain to the fitting room and struts towards them in a breathtaking aubergine dress.

“Ok!” She positions herself in front of the triple mirror and poses a few times before looking back at them. “I might get it! What do you think?”

“I love it, V.” Betty admires.

Cheryl gets up, standing tall on her heels. She grabs one of the dresses on the rack and pushes past Veronica. “It’s _my turn_ to try things on,” she says, disappearing behind the curtains.

Betty and Veronica look at each other once the redhead is out of sight.

“Well, she’s definitely feeling _some way_ ,” Veronica tells Betty. Her irritation would be imperceptible if Betty didn’t know her so well. “I wish we were spending time together and not… waiting for Cheryl to shop for herself.”

Betty sighs, tired of being blamed for the situation, whatever it was. “I thought things were ok between you two after the sleepover. You spent a lot of time with her the past couple of months, I didn’t think you’d be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Veronica looks again at the mirror and smooths down the fabric of her dress. “Cheryl and I _are_ ok and we have been... spending time together. But you’ve been so busy with the paper, B. I thought we could use this day to hang out just the two of us,” she says with a hint of sadness.

Normally Betty would be touched with Veronica’s sincerity but the constant pressure is becoming frustrating. “Don’t be like that, V. It’s not enough that the Blue and Gold is going off on me about The Register. I can’t take this from you, too.”

Veronica smiles a little apologetically, curling her hand around Betty’s wrist. “Hey. It’s just a phase, ok? The Blue and Gold has these hyper-fixations on everyone from time to time and once this is over you’ll be back on the favorites list. Trust me, I would know.”

Betty thinks about that. “I just don’t understand why they’re dragging _me_ , in particular.”

“You’re stealing their spotlight, B. All these stories that you’re writing are getting attention and taking away from the superficial reporting of their meaningless blasts. They hate to be outdone.”

Betty has never even considered herself, or the paper, in competition with the Blue and Gold. She’s about to open her mouth to reply but a swish of the velvet curtain makes more noise than she thought possible and Cheryl makes a show of transforming the fitting room into her personal catwalk, breezing by in the severely short emerald mini dress.

“Looks like I found a dress too, Veronica.” She smiles wickedly at the pair of them. “Isn’t it everything?”

Betty looks at her best friends, dressed in complementary colors. If she’s honest with herself, they _both_ also hate to be outdone. Veronica looks at Cheryl up and down, and then turns to Betty.

“Let’s find one for you too, B. A soon-to-be worldly praised journalist needs something bedazzling.”

Betty at least humors Veronica by trying on a few dresses before settling on a baby blue satin cocktail dress and heads to the registers to pay. She does that often — buys something _immediately_ when she likes it, otherwise she’ll talk herself out of it.

The air is thick when the blonde abandons the fitting room, leaving Cheryl and Veronica alone for the first time since…

_The scratching of Cheryl’s long red nails along her thighs left her panting before anything even happened, leaving fire in their wake as she made her way down Veronica’s body._

_Nobody had touched her since Archie on Halloween, and he barely got below her waist. Cheryl’s touch was spurring her on further, making her buck her hips and pant uncontrollably. The redhead fell on her knees on the limo’s floor, pushing her panties to the side and hypnotizing her with the insistent rhythm of her tongue._

_When she was back up on the leather bench, Veronica couldn’t help but take back the power, even shaky and breathless, straddling Cheryl and tugging at her luscious red locks. Her slip was pushed down, pooling around her waist, and Cheryl’s mouth was perfect around her nipple, her nails digging on the flesh of her ass._

_Veronica moaned way too loud. “You like that,” Cheryl whispered, scratching up her spine, probably leaving a red trail on her skin._

_“Shut up,” Veronica bit Cheryl’s bottom lip, sucking it between hers, tasting herself in Cheryl’s tongue. She pulled the red strands firmly, making Cheryl moan against her mouth. “And you like that, huh?”_

_She thought Cheryl would resist saying anything, but the “Yes,” she grunted was a fucking great sound. Soon Veronica’s hand was between their thighs._

… since _that_.

“So,” Veronica tries, chewing on her thumb for a moment. “Are you buying the green one?”

“No,” Cheryl says, sitting on the couch again and checking her phone impatiently. “I looked again and the lining’s a mess.”

So, it will be like this? Veronica almost rolls her eyes with the originality. _So, we fucked and now you’re going to give me the cold shoulder just because you can’t handle it_. Taking a deep breath, she thinks about what Betty said before, about them spending so much time together lately, and things seeming ok. They _were_ ok. Veronica was so glad to see Cheryl as her friend again, at least _frenemies_ , and not as some half-assed competition.

She exhales. She _will_ be the better person. “Look, Cheryl,” Veronica starts. “What happened between us—”

Cheryl’s eyebrows crease very lightly. “ _Nothing_ happened between us, Veronica.”

Veronica is taken aback by the bite in Cheryl’s voice, immediately _offended_ by the denial. _Is that so?_

“I’m going to help Betty so we can get this over with,” Cheryl starts to collect her things and leaves Veronica alone in the fitting room.

She lets her mouth hang open. _Of course,_ this is how she’s trying to play this. But Veronica Lodge _is not_ anyone’s afterthought. She _tried_ to be the bigger and better person, but if Cheryl thinks she can just _brush her off_ like this…

Game on.

Hermione sits at her desk and sets down the fresh tea as she scrolls through her phone. Minetta isn’t in his office, so she opts for his cell, hoping he’ll sign off on her new proposal. It goes straight to voicemail. She clenches her jaw, pissed. They have only a few days before the company closes for Christmas, and she _needs_ his signature on these files. “Michael, would you please call me back? This is important.”

Hermione sighs. After the divorce, Michael Minetta became a liaison between Hiram and Hermione. It’s so _degrading_ that she has to _consult_ her former employee for every single decision she makes in the company she helped build.

Maybe the other wives on the Upper East Side were right in turning a blind eye — she should have just _accepted_ Hiram’s double-life, swallowed down whatever he had to offer, received another apology in the form of a jewelry box. Her marriage was no different from all the other marriages she knew, why did she have to be _so difficult?_ — to quote Hiram.

At least she’d still have a voice in the company.

She’s sending a follow up text when her assistant pops his head in the door. It’s times like these that made her reach out to a bottle of pills she used to keep in the first drawer of her desk. She doesn’t keep one there anymore — she doesn’t keep one anywhere — but she still misses the false sense of tranquility having those pills on reach gave her.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Lodge, but there’s a man here looking for you. His name is FP Jones.”

Hermione frowns but then smiles, forgetting about the urge to feel chemically calmer for a second. She wasn’t expecting him to ever show up here, at Lodge Industries, of all places. “You can send him in. Thank you.”

“Mrs. Lodge will see you now.”

Her younger self’s teenage dream comes through the door, looking out of place but handsome as always. It’s a rare sight to see him in a button-up shirt with zero grease, and no sign of his usual leather jacket.

“Hey there, _Gomez_ ,” he greets. 

“Hey yourself,” she offers back with a petty eye-roll. Apparently, he’ll keep on calling her by her maiden name. She doesn’t feel like correcting him. “What are you doing in this part of town? Are you lost?” She jokes, admiring the slight smirk on his face.

“I’m collecting that expiring rain check.” FP pulls a wingback chair and sits. It makes Hermione strangely giddy, the fact that her _trashy_ — to quote Hiram again — downtown ex-boyfriend is sitting where so many businessmen and women have been before to offer her all kinds of deals and convince her to do things to help them out. The past month has been so busy with Hiram visiting and the holidays approaching, she didn’t have a chance to take him out to dinner as promised that night in November. “I come bearing lunch.”

She feels the smile tugging at her lips. “How thoughtful of you.”

FP sets down the bag and she expects to see something resembling take-out. Instead, he retrieves a few containers. “Jellybean is practicing for the Christmas feast and I thought you shouldn’t let me suffer through it alone.”

She can’t help but laugh, not missing the hope in his eyes. “That makes me feel better.”

“We have mashed potatoes, green beans, turkey…” FP starts reading the labels on the containers, all written in a frilly calligraphy that probably belongs to his daughter. “Jughead ate all the lasagna.”

Hermione smiles. “You know,” she starts as FP opens the containers and hands her a plastic fork and knife set. “Veronica told me that your son is now working on the school’s newspaper.”

“Yeah. My boy is smart, Hermione. Nothing like his old man.” He shakes his head with a laugh, evident pride for his kid.

“Just because you didn’t go to a prep school, doesn’t mean you’re not smart,” Hermione says, pointing the fork at him. They both went to the same public school in Bushwick their entire lives. The difference was what happened _after_. “I knew your son was going to study with my daughter.”

FP’s eyebrows go up. “You did?”

“Yeah. Before… Everything, I was part of the school board. I remember the headmaster was going through the new scholarship students and he said… _Forsythe Pendleton Jones… The third_.”

FP snorts. “Did your heart stop when you heard my name? I’m betting it did.”

Hermione almost rolls her eyes. This is the sort of thing he’d tell her back then. “Yeah, it stopped when I realized you passed your name legacy on.” She teases. “It did make me wonder how you were, though. I kind of thought… _What are the odds_?”

“It’s a small island.” FP shrugs. “Of course, I also knew Veronica was going to attend that school. Every step of her life was pretty publicized. When Jughead said he wanted to try and apply for that specific scholarship because it was a great school, I knew he was right. You and _Hiram Lodge_ would never allow your girl anything other than the best.”

Hermione pokes at her food with the plastic fork, a wistful smile on her lips. “Did you think we would see each other? At some PTA meeting?”

“Nah. I never went to those, never bothered. Thought I’d see you around when they graduated or something. But I do have to say — after the news of your stay in the Phoenix Center flew around the centers I work at… I was worried. I went to the Ivy Mixer hoping I’d find you.” He looks up at her. “Always easier to go through these things with a friend by your side.”

Friends. Hermione doesn’t think she’s had a real friend — except for her daughter — ever since her marriage to Hiram. It was a choice, a conscious one, but she’s glad to still have a place in FP’s life after all that they’ve been through. “Veronica… Doesn’t know. About you and me. Before and… now.”

FP stares at her knowingly, for a second, before he nods in understanding. “That’s alright. To be fair, I guess Jughead only knows there was some chick who broke my heart in high school, sent me into the arms of his mother,” he says, quite dramatically.

“Shut up.” Hermione rolls her eyes playfully for the hundredth time since he’s been here. “They’re not friends like we were. Your son and my daughter. Veronica says she only knows him in passing now that he’s working at the paper with her best friend.”

“He’s a quiet one. Jughead. Different breed of Jones from me and Jellybean. Not even like Gladys, the kid marches to the beat of his own drum.”

“Why do you call them that? Jughead and Jellybean?”

“They call themselves that. I just go along.” He laughs. “Probably a way to get back at me for passing on the name legacy.”

They fall into comfortable laughter followed by a comfortable silence. Hermione feels _good_ to have him back in her life with everything going on. It’s nice to have a sense of familiarity.

“So how about we finally get that dinner in question,” she quips suddenly.

He peers over his food skeptically. “Tomorrow. I’m sponsoring a meeting at the Claremont Center. Why don’t you come? It starts at six. We can have dinner afterwards.”

Hermione sighs. It’s been three months since she’s been sober, two months since going to FP for help to keep her head above water. She dodged all his invitations to attend meetings so far. “I’m gonna think about it. I promise.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

It’s been so long, over a year and a half, since they’ve been at Mariebelle — the three of them. The cocoa and gold striped wallpaper is just as she remembers, appearing to shimmer against the low-hanging chandeliers in the dining area. When they passed through the showroom, she felt nostalgic seeing their tree set up, adorned with vintage ornaments and makeshift tinsel.

Veronica scans the menu while enjoying the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and decadent chocolate. Her eyes stray from the cake selections and slowly lifts to peer over the laminate card, casting her gaze on a silent Cheryl.

The way the redhead’s lashes move tells her she’s paying attention. Veronica drums her malaga wine manicure against the marble table a little victoriously.

“Hello, ladies. What can I get you?”

Betty settles on a slice of white chocolate cake drizzled with raspberry syrup while Cheryl surprisingly orders a _crème caramel_.

“I’ll take sparkling water and the cherry cloud, please.” Veronica folds her menu and hands it to the waiter with a charming smile. “Oh! And can I get a few extra cherries on the side? Thanks.”

For the first time since their arrival downtown today, Cheryl’s brown eyes meet hers and linger. Veronica swears she sees the slightest curve of an eyebrow. “Nice choice,” she says, glancing down.

“So was yours.” Veronica feels one corner of her lip pulling up. “B!” Veronica calls before giving herself away too much. Betty, who was looking down at her phone — the infamous _Juggie_ , no doubt — seems startled. “When do you leave again?”

“Sunday. Off to Lake Placid, as always.” Betty sighs, setting her phone down for a second after Veronica gives it a pointed look.

“Nothing says Christmas with the Coopers like board games and hot chocolate in the Adirondacks,” Cheryl says, with a hint of tease that makes Veronica laugh.

Betty agrees. “That’s how wild we are.”

The waiter returns with a tray and starts plating their desserts before them. Dropping their napkins and picking up their forks, the girls start on their sugary treats.

“What about you, Cheryl?” Veronica extends the pleasantry, moving her hand just a _little_ closer to the redhead’s over the table, just enough so they don’t touch. “Are Clifford and Penelope hosting their swanky business soiree at Thornhill this year?”

“As usual,” Cheryl’s fingers seem to flinch. She moves her hand away after that. Veronica feels weirdly satisfied. “Although this year is bound to be interesting, to say the least, since Mumsy dearest is promoting her line of vintage lingerie to Victoria’s Secret.” Cheryl takes a sip of her water, leaving a crimson lipstick stain on the rim of the glass.

“Oh, is she hiring some _angels_ to serve the eggnog?” Veronica plucks a cherry from her plate and wraps her lips around it before biting into it, tilting her chin up to make a show of her neck.

“The tree is all decorated with pink bows, Betty. I think you’d like it.” Cheryl definitely _tries_ to ignore Veronica. Betty, who was about to answer another text, looks up from her phone and plasters on a smile.

“At least you two can have your annual Christmas sleepover,” Betty points out. Veronica shifts a little in her seat — she’d almost forgotten about _that_ Christmas tradition. “The most fun _I’ll_ be having is playing Clue with my dad while we eat baked goods and hide from my mom.”

She watches Betty take another stab at the cake before reverting her attention back on the way Cheryl’s tongue peeks out to lick some caramel from her upper lip.

Veronica takes a spoonful of her meringue cream with the sour cherry sauce. “Not sure about the annual sleepover,” she says after licking the spoon clean, humming a little and feeling Cheryl’s eyes discreetly on her. “I mean, with me not at The Pembrooke anymore.”

“I would invite you to go to my grandparents’ with me, V, but you know my mom,” Betty mentions. Her phone buzzes again, taking her attention one more time. Veronica glances quickly at Cheryl, just out of habit so they could silently communicate about Betty’s _obvious_ crush on her newspaper partner, but Cheryl is deadass staring at her lips, her hand on the back of her neck.

Veronica feels a rush of heat moving up her face. She reaches into her bag, looking for an excuse to take a moment and breathe a little.

“Hey, B? If the waiter comes back, can you please order a box of those truffles my mom likes?” Betty nods her head from her place across the table. “I’m going to touch up my lipstick.”

Her heels carry her across the wooden planked flooring in the direction of the powder room. Veronica pushes open the door and takes a minute to take in her appearance when she reaches the mirrors.

She uncaps her MAC Russian Red and brings it to her lips when the door swings open, startling her slightly.

The fiery red catches her attention instantly, letting the tube fall to the vanity with a clatter.

Veronica smirks at the girl coming at her quickly. “Do you need anyth—”

She’s cut off when Cheryl’s mouth crashes against hers forcefully. Veronica recovers quickly from the surprise and opens her mouth, their tongues meeting almost immediately, a sweet explosion of cherry and caramel.

They’re a tangle of hair and hands as they stumble through the bathroom, winding up in an end stall. Cheryl’s nails scratch along the column of Veronica’s neck and she breaks the kiss to look at her, panting heavily.

“I thought nothing had happened between us,” Veronica murmurs, defiant.

Cheryl’s tongue runs over her bottom lip. “We’re going to regret this.”

She’s probably right, but Veronica steers her towards her mouth again, anyway.

Bryant Park, this time of the year, is full of artisans, food stands, tourists, and vendors. It’s around five o’clock on Friday and the sun is making its way down, hiding behind the skyscrapers, as the fairy lights above their heads are lighting up.

Betty has her mitten-clad hands around a cup of coffee. The decaf latte is not nearly as good as the ones Jughead makes for her at The Blend, it barely tastes like the vanilla flavoring she ordered, but it’s at least helping to warm her up. They’re walking side by side through the winter village — she invited him to meet her there after spending hours thinking about it last night. She did want to tell him about the minimal information she got out of Cheryl and Veronica during their shopping trip, but the truth is, she just wanted to see him.

She got used to it. Seeing him and talking to him multiple times a day. Her mother always said she got so easily attached to people who gave her some attention. She's not sure if that's true or not, yet.

He’s got those gloves on, the ones that cut off at the knuckles, exposing his fingers to the biting cold. There’s a little glint in his eye, smiling at her as he tosses some candied nuts in his mouth. Betty knows she’s drawn in by the aroma of the sugary snack but she finds herself lingering on the shape of his chapped lips.

With his mouth full, he looks at her thoughtfully as she tells what happened in Bloomingdale’s.

“So your day of shopping was basically a bust then?” There’s a lilt of humor in his tone. “Other than whatever expensive things you purchased along the way.”

“I only got _one_ dress,” she replies, belly doing a somersault at his tiny but audible chuckle. “Plus Cheryl stated she was a fan of the Blue and Gold, and Veronica did mention that they’re doing this because they don't like to be upstaged.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s about seventy-five percent of the Upper East Side, Betty.”

“Minus you of course,” she suddenly grabs a Russian hat from a faux-fur outerwear stand and tugs down the flaps playfully over Jughead’s ears, “Comrade Jones.”

The lopsided smile gives him away. “I could wear this instead of my beanie,” he says as he pulls it off his head, “but it doesn’t get properly cold in New York anymore. It never snows!”

“Oh, here comes the lecture about global warming,” Betty jokes, biting on her lower lip. His black hair looks so fluffy and her heart beats a little faster every time a lock falls in front of his blue eyes. Jughead puts the hat back on the stand, quickly apologizing to the vendor.

“I’m serious, Christmas shouldn’t be sunny.”

“There’s an entire hemisphere that disagrees with you.”

“I know, I know.” Jughead furrows his brows as he tosses the wax paper into the recycling receptacle in the park. She does the same to her coffee cup. “It’s just… There hasn’t been snow on Christmas ever since my mom left for Toledo. And I know it probably sounds stupid, but the holidays haven’t lived up to their ‘magical’ promise since then.”

His arms fall at his side once he’s done air-quoting. Betty takes a deep breath. Jughead rarely talks about his family — she only knows his parents are divorced and his mother remarried, and that he lives with his younger sister and father in Williamsburg, not far from Fred Andrews' loft. His father owns a car repair shop. It was one of their first bonding conversations during their newspaper hours, when she told him about her own father’s passion for repairing cars and how she actually knew her way around an engine.

Betty remembers how he smiled a little impressed then, and when she asked why, he only said he never took her for a gearhead.

 _There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Forsythe_ , she told him. There was a lot she didn’t know about him either.

“I know how you feel,” she whispers, deciding to give him something real since he’s just done the same. “Things haven’t really felt right since my sister left and sometimes I find the only thing I wish I’d get for Christmas is another one spent with Polly.”

“She’s not joining you upstate?” Jughead asks, stopping to check out a vintage car plate on a stand.

Betty curls her hand into a fist, glad for the mittens keeping her nails away from her skin, but missing the stingy feeling at the same time. For a second, she’s forgotten that everyone — including her Register partner — thinks Polly is just living her best life in Providence. She swallows, wondering how would he feel if she told him the truth, if she told him she shared more than just blood with her sister.

“No,” Betty says, breathing out. “Her sorority is hosting a Christmas party and they’re volunteering at one of the shelters near campus. She told my mom she could never leave behind those who are not lucky enough to go home and see their families.”

She lies, but it does sound like something Polly would do. Her heart pangs at the thought.

Jughead looks over at her, blue eyes studying her face for a bit. “I can lend you my sister for an indefinite amount of time,” he says, and Betty knows he’s joking — he adores his little sister — only to cheer her up. “Seriously, you don’t even have to return her.”

She ends up laughing, some warmth spreading over her bare skin and she feels a blush at the nape of her neck not covered by her knitted scarf when they fall back into step. Bryant Park’s towering tree is lit up over the skating rink and she thinks it really _could_ be magical with a dusting of snow. She finds herself hoping Jughead gets his Christmas miracle this year, he deserves it.

“What color is the dress, any way?” Jughead asks out of nowhere.

“Oh.” She’s a little caught off guard. “Blue.”

He hums at her response, and she swears the corner of his mouth curls up just slightly.

* * *

_tgif, party people! not that it matters when you’re rich and on winter break, but it does if you’re carrying the aristocratic legacy of your parents’ last name on your broad shoulders._

_while an all gentlemen’s club is an old fashioned, outdated idea, the all gentlemen’s rager of our favorite prep schools is a tradition held on the last weekend before christmas. it changes its location every year to keep things secret, but don’t worry, we have eyes and ears everywhere. we know you adore when we follow our girls around town, but tonight we’re all about the boys… if they survive it._

* * *

The _boys-only_ party in the first weekend of winter break was one of the few events Archie got to go without Betty and Veronica back then _._ Last year, with Veronica gone and him and Betty distant, he got so drunk and depressed that he ended the party passed out on Bret Weston Wallis’ couch. They had hangover breakfast together the next day.

It was weird.

Archie looks down at his phone as he waits in front of Mason Manor, a brownstone encompassing an entire corner of the block for the party this Friday. There’s music coming from the inside. He checks Toni’s chat again — she told him she’d send him a message when the video was up, but nothing yet. He didn’t really want to come so he could help her with it, but Reggie didn’t even give him the chance to say that aloud.

_You’re going, Andrews. The end._

Some guys that Archie think go to Dalton get out of a town car that pulls up, a cloud of weed smoke hovering over them. Archie coughs a little when they shuffle by him. He refused Reggie’s invitation for a pre-party — after how wasted he got last year, Archie intends to pace himself tonight.

Another town car arrives. Archie knows that it’s the Mantle’s car, so he pockets his phone and takes two steps towards it when the door opens. Reggie is laughing at something, a whisky bottle clutched in his hand, but it’s still kind of full.

“Andrews! Good evening,” Reggie says, shoving the bottle on Archie’s hand. Behind him another guy gets out of the car, and Archie frowns when he sees Veronica’s friend, Kevin Keller, who’s also laughing at something. “You remember Kevin, right?”

“Yeah from the wrestling team, sure,” Archie extends his hand to shake Kevin’s. “How’s it going?”

“Probably about to be even better,” Kevin gives two pats on Archie’s shoulder, and Reggie cracks up. It’s probably some joke that Archie doesn’t get. Kevin starts heading towards the gate. “Let’s go?”

Archie holds Reggie’s arm for a moment before he can follow. He doesn’t know why he’s a little skeptical of Kevin — he probably is a nice person, since Veronica is always around him, but she has been around _non-nice_ people before. It just feels weird that he’s such a constant new presence. “I didn’t know you were friends with Keller.”

“Don’t be jealous, Andrews. I had to keep myself busy while you were shacking up with Jack Skellington across the bridge. But don’t worry, Keller’s a blast,” Reggie lets out that silly laugh that means he _really_ thinks someone is a blast. “You’ll like him.”

“Thank you all for coming. I hope to see you guys next week.”

Hermione watches from her place at the door as the circle claps to FP’s closing words. She didn’t make it to the actual meeting — it was a busy day and, besides, there was just so much to consider, being a woman in her position. Someone could recognize her if she were to speak freely in a group, keeping all of her sessions private. If she gave people more reason to talk, it would just give _Hiram_ more reason to talk.

But she’s made it through the door for the first time. That was, perhaps, a big step.

She smiles as people approach FP to shake his hand or hug him. An older woman gives him a present and a whole speech while touching his face tenderly. He seems to get slightly emotional by her words. Hermione waits until the woman walks past to move closer.

“Hi,” she says with an honest smile. It seems to catch him off guard.

“Hermione. Hey. You… I thought you weren’t—”

“I still can’t,” she tells him the truth. “But I did make it for the tail end. You’re… You’re good at this.”

FP blows out a breath, looks down at the gift in his hands. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just a fraud, though,” he confesses. “All of these people who depend on my words not to drink their asses off during the holidays. Half of them won’t come back after Christmas, you know.”

Hermione holds on to the strap of her bag. Last year, Christmas was such a lonely affair that she took three pills before attending a dinner for Lodge Industries, swallowed them down with champagne, and had four more when she got home. Veronica had preferred to stay in New Hampshire. No one was there.

“But half of them will,” she says, trying to be positive for him. FP looks at her for a long moment, eyes turning soft like they used to do. “Should we do this another time? It’s fine if—”

“What? Getting cold feet now, Gomez?” The usual teasing comes back to his voice. “I actually remembered to make reservations. I really am getting old.”

They walk a little farther and the wind bites at their noses. Hermione enjoys the easy conversation and pulls up her cashmere scarf a little higher up her face.

“Big plans for the holidays?” She asks. “Aside from your daughter’s marvelous cooking?”

FP laughs and shakes his head, causing an unruly lock of hair to fall loose. “Might get into a competitive game of Parcheesi with the kids, who knows.”

She laughs, falling in step with him as they cross another street. Back in high school, she’d always spend Christmas Eve with the Joneses because her mother had to work for a family who held pretentious dinners just like the ones she learned how to host.

“What about you?” He asks.

Truthfully, Hermione doesn’t know. She and Veronica had only one Christmas post-divorce together, and it was obviously a mess — at some point, Hermione sent Veronica away to Melinda Mantle’s soirée only so they would stop screaming at each other. This year, she’s hoping to make every holiday special for her daughter in this new _normal_ that they’re still adjusting to.

“I wish we were spending it in our home, but, as you know, we’re still living at the Five Seasons. It’s not the most Christmas-y thing I can do, but I’m sure some new traditions and good takeout can make up for it. I don’t want Veronica to be disappointed.”

“Take out is _not_ how you should be celebrating Christmas,” he points out. “But if you’re open to suggestions, I might just have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?” She quips, suddenly calmer without knowing where this is going.

“Yeah.” He replies, tentatively placing a hand at the small of her back to usher her into the restaurant.

She doesn’t have time to relish in her thoughts when she reads the sign.

“Polish?” She asks, intrigued.

“I remember you being a fan of my grandmother’s pierogies, once upon a time, you know.” He smirks a little proudly, holding the door for her. “After you, m’lady.”

The party is in full swing and the music seems to have gotten even louder. There are hired models dancing on tables, still clothed for the time being. A few more guests have trickled in but Archie keeps mostly to himself. He recognizes Chuck Clayton and Frankie Valdez from the Greenwich Prep hockey team wearing their red letterman jackets.

After refusing a bunch of shots, Archie sips slowly on his second beer. He stands near the wall and succeeds in enjoying the party as a bystander this year. Reggie’s hollering about something near the terrace, helping Moose lift Bret’s legs for a keg stand. Kevin is cheering them on but, when he catches Archie’s eye, he walks over to where he stands.

“Not in a party mood, huh?” Kevin gives him a friendly smile.

“Not really.” Archie chuckles humorlessly. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile since—”

“—the Mantle wedding?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a slight frown.

Archie takes another swig of his beer, wishing it was still cold. He swallows it and looks at Kevin a little more closely now, wondering why he would say something like that.

Since the unfortunately timed blast that happened at the Kiss on the Lips party, the heavy secret Archie had been carrying in his heart since Ollie’s wedding was no longer private, but most people let _that_ scandal go not long after. He knows that Kevin has become fast friends with Veronica, but he’s not sure if she would open up about it either.

“Well, not that you’re asking _me_ , but if you were, I think you owned up to your mistakes and you deserve to cut yourself some slack. You can’t hide forever in this world, right?”

He looks up from the peeled off label on his beer and Kevin offers him a sincere, but small, smile.

Archie gives him an appreciative nod and moves away from Kevin, under the pretense of getting a new beer. He’s at the bar waiting when everyone’s phones start chirping, vibrating or ringing throughout the room. He doesn’t make too much out of it — another day, another blast — but when he realizes that a few eyes are on him and that some audible laughs are aimed in his direction, his heart starts beating fast.

He quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket — there are two new notifications from Toni, something he completely forgot about.

_“What the actual fuck?”_

_“What is he doing?”_

_“What a moron.”_

_“Is that a Youtube Channel? For real?”_

_“Someone share this screen.”_

He doesn’t even have time to read the messages when his face is on the big flat screen in Moose's living room. The music stops to give place to his voice and _stupid face_ saying: _Hi, everyone, my name is Archie Andrews…_

His neck feels hot and he can feel the redness rising. Toni did say she was going to upload the video, but how on Earth was it already shared with the Blue and Gold? He looks around, wishing that a hole would appear in the ground to swallow him _and_ his projected image who’s now starting to play Goo Goo Doll’s Black Balloon. The chords mix up with the quiet laughter around him, and Chuck Clayton catcalls.

But before the video goes any further, Archie sees Reggie reaching out for the remote and turning off the smart TV. A few _boos_ are interrupted when he slams down a bottle of tequila on the granite table that was being used for beer pong, immediately halting the insults.

“You guys think you’re funny doing this… Except you’re all fucking dumb. What’s even the problem in having a hobby? You, Clayton,” Reggie points at the Greenwich team captain, “if I remember correctly, you kept drawing girlfriends for Batman when we were in middle school, isn’t that right?” Some guys chuckle at that information. Chuck Clayton visibly clenches his jaw, but Reggie carries on. “And you, Graham, what about that summer we spent in Cabo, didn’t your grandma say you were skilled at crocheting? Don’t you still play the flute, Molloy?”

No one says anything and the residual laughter stops.

“We’re all here because we play on teams and kick ass together, but we’re not the bullying, asshole jocks we were known to be before. I guess we can all agree that it takes a lot of balls to put yourself out there. So, if anyone else tries to make fun of Andrews because he has a talent, keep talking. But you’re going to deal with me.”

It’s an awkward silence after that. Archie watches as the guys avoid each other’s eyes and look down at their drinks as if they had just been scolded by their mother. There’s some weird satisfaction in that. He feels his lips curling up when he looks at Reggie, who offers him a quick wink.

It makes Archie chuckle despite himself. He decides to say something, if only because everyone is somewhat looking at him again with apologetic and ashamed faces. “You guys can subscribe to the channel and watch that later if you want but can’t we just… restart the party now?”

There’s a roar, some clapping and _hell yeahs_. The loud, hip-hop music comes back and everyone starts jumping around again, like nothing ever happened. One of the girl models _finally_ loses her shirt. Some guys pat Archie’s back as he makes his way to the beer pong table where Reggie is pouring tequila into empty red solo cups.

“Thanks man,” Archie says, meaningfully, placing a hand on Reggie’s shoulder blade.

“Shots?” Reggie gives him a cup.

Archie sighs. “Shots.”

* * *

_they say chivalry has been dead for some time, but we’d like to contradict that statement. **#archreggie**? brotp. that’s all. **#nowkiss**_

* * *

“I should go,” Kevin says between giggles as he waves the smoke away from him, passing the joint back to Archie. “Do either of you have eye drops?”

Archie doesn’t know what’s so funny but he’s cracking up now, too. “No, Keller, c’mon,” Reggie tugs his shirt when he tries to get up. Kevin loses his balance and topples to the ground. The three boys explode in laughter for a moment.

“You two are insane,” Kevin concludes as he finally manages to stand on his feet. He looks straight ahead, very serious as if he’s trying to pretend he’s sober. “I’m going. Don’t… do anything stupid.”

“We never do,” Reggie says, and it’s ridiculous, so Archie ends up laughing again. “Love you, Kev!” He calls before Kevin climbs the stairs to get out of the Mason’s basement.

“Same, same.”

Archie peers over at his friend at the surprising sentiment. Reggie wrinkles his forehead. “What? I love you, too, Andrews.”

There’s a _slam_ that signals that Kevin shut the door. The party upstairs is definitely dying at this hour — not that Archie knows what time it is. Maybe he and Reggie should go, too. He wants pizza.

“Maybe we should go too,” Archie vocalizes his thoughts, passing the joint to Reggie. “I want pizza.”

“That’s actually,” Reggie pauses dramatically while pointing at him, “ _not_ a bad idea.”

Archie excitedly throws his fist in the air, like he does when he scores a goal.

They don’t move for a minute, letting the quiet seconds pass, but then Reggie stubs out the joint and actually gets up. Archie follows, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Dude,” Reggie says as he tries to open the door Kevin just left through. “We’re locked in.”

“ _What?_ No way.” Archie climbs the steps and holds on to the doorknob, forcing it every possible way. “What the fuck? Did Keller lock us down here?”

“How would he do that?” Reggie pushes the door with his shoulder but, expectedly, nothing happens. “Try the back door.”

“Yeah, ok.” Archie runs a hand through his hair, feeling a little nervous now. He tries the door that leads them to the street, but it’s also locked. “Fuck.”

They try opening both doors for a few minutes but are unsuccessful. At some point, Reggie gives up, resigned. “Ok, no need to panic. We’ll call Moose and he’ll let us out.”

It sounds like a good idea, except Archie _thinks_ he saw Moose passed out somewhere upstairs hours ago. He doesn’t tell that to Reggie, though — he can’t _really_ remember.

This is why he wanted to stay sober.

Archie sits on the floor again as Reggie leans against some shelves, phone in hand. He tries Moose and all the other guys that could still be upstairs, he tries Kevin, he sends numerous texts to the hockey team’s group chat — Archie’s phone keeps buzzing in his pocket as he receives them and it’s kind of funny, somehow — but no one seems interested in rescuing them.

“Maybe we should send a blast to the Blue and Gold,” Archie suggests, rubbing his eyes for a moment. If Betty was there, she’d open those doors with a hairpin in two minutes.

Reggie shakes his head. “I’ll just call Veronica,” he says, decidedly, and Archie suddenly feels sober, his eyebrows knitting together. “She’s my ride or die, she won’t let me stay stuck in—”

“Bro, don’t,” Archie interrupts without thinking, his chest a little heavy. He can’t begin to imagine how fucking _horrible_ it would be if Veronica came to their rescue because Reggie asked her to and he’d have to look at her while fucking stoned and she’d probably laugh a little at him because she always did when he got high and it wouldn’t matter because they _can’t_ — “Please don’t. I’ll figure something out.”

Reggie stops. He looks at Archie, who takes his own phone from his pocket and sends Jughead an SOS text with Moose’s address. Jughead is a night owl and he’s definitely not drunk or high, so he’ll see it eventually.

“You wanna talk about it?” Reggie asks after a long moment. “With Veronica, I mean.”

“What’s to talk about?” Archie heaves out a breath. “We cheated on Betty. _I_ cheated on Betty, and there’s no excuse, but I was so done pretending. It was fucked up, and now…“ he shrugs. “Nothing is ever going to be the same. And I feel stupid because I know _why_ she chose Betty and I agree with that, I just…”

“Wish she had chosen you?”

Archie doesn’t answer that because in the deepest, most selfish part of his heart, of course he wishes she _did_ choose him. But—

“I’ve been there, you know,” Reggie pockets his phone and resumes his stance against the shelves, “for years hoping Veronica would eventually choose me. I told myself it was just a matter of time, that we were inevitable. Then… She left.” He smiles a little sadly. Archie swallows the thick saliva in his mouth. “We were still talking, though. She’d text me, said she missed me, said she didn’t leave because of me… That’s kinda when I realized she’d probably never feel the same. But I knew I wanted her back in my life, in any way she wanted to be in it.”

“How do you do it? I don’t… I don’t know how. When I _try_ to be _just_ her friend, it just…“

“There’s no _how_ , man. You just… You can’t keep feeling like this. You can’t _enjoy_ feeling like shit, you can’t _choose_ to be miserable, that’s not how it works. These songs you’re playing about her, that’s fine if it helps but… You, somehow, have to try and start to move on, you know?”

Archie weighs the heaviness of his friend’s words. He wants to say he _knows_ how Reggie felt to some degree. He also wants to say it’s even worse because there was never going to be an easy way to get her to choose _him._

“You know what they say bro,” Reggie comes to sit next to him on the floor. “The best way to get over someone is by getting under someone else,” he claps a flat hand on his back with a small smile, his tone is light but his touch is firm, reassuringly there.

Archie huffs out a breath. “They do say that.”

“But hey, maybe we'll all have a threesome someday.”

At that, Archie ends up laughing, shoving Reggie’s head playfully, but they stay in silence after their laughter subdues.

Reggie’s right. It fucking _sucks_ feeling this way and knowing that there’s _no_ chance, at least not right now. The thought plagues his mind all the time and it’s hard to keep on waiting for things to change when that tiny spark of hope tells him to hold out.

Archie has always wanted Veronica to be happy, but now he needs to focus on his own happiness. He decides it’s time to be brave — let this dream go and put himself out there. Just like he’s doing with his music.

It’s what he’s thinking about when he dozes off against Reggie’s shoulder, the effects of booze and weed finally getting to him.

A few minutes later — maybe — Archie is startled awake by a persistent knocking on the back door. He deliriously takes in his surroundings shaking his eyes into focus. Reggie seems to have slept too, because he yawns and stretches. “What the hell?”

There’s a dim light peering in from the windows, like the sun is starting to rise.

More knocking. His phone is vibrating in his pocket too. Archie gets it and frowns when he sees Toni is calling him.

“Toni?”

“Red, I’m outside. Are you ok?”

“Y—yeah,” Archie presses on his temples, a headache forming behind his eyes. Reggie is staring at him with a sleepy, puzzled expression. “What time is it? Wait, you’re outside?”

“Yes. I’ve unlocked the door but there must be some extra latches inside, can you check?” Archie does what he’s told, body still feeling the weed’s effects as he stumbles to the back. He doesn’t understand how _Toni_ is outside, didn’t he text Jughead?

He unlocks two latches at the top and the door swings open. Toni is outside with a smile and her pink hair is divided in two loose braids. “You look like shit,” she tells him, her phone still pressed to her ear.

Archie doesn’t think she’s lying; he can _feel_ his hair all over the place. “What are you—”

“Doing here? Jughead sent me. My shift at the Wyrm ended just half an hour ago.” She takes a quick peek into the basement. Reggie is getting up, his expression somewhere between curious and stoned. Archie checks the hour: it’s almost six. They slept for over two hours.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think Jughead would disturb you,” Archie says as he steps outside. Reggie comes right behind him, closing the basement’s door.

“If it isn’t a beautiful day,” he stretches again once they’re at street level. It’s _not_ a beautiful day — it’s kinda foggy and freezing cold, “to be saved by a beautiful girl. Hello, sweetie,” he extends a hand towards Toni. “I’m Reggie Mantle.”

“Toni Topaz,” Toni gives him her hand. Archie rolls his eyes, amused, when Reggie leans down to kiss it.

“Andrews, where have you been hiding this gem?”

“Probably somewhere you wouldn’t go,” Toni is the one who answers with an eyeroll of her own. “I’m heading back there now by the way, Red,” she says, walking towards the motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. She hands him a helmet. “Need a ride?”

Archie doesn’t really know why, but he feels his cheeks warm up with the perspective of riding to Brooklyn on the back of her bike. He looks over at Reggie, who gives him a crooked smile. It makes him chuckle quietly, even more embarrassed, as he accepts the helmet. “Thanks. Let’s go.”

She hops on the bike to start it. Reggie gives him a pointed wave and starts walking down the sidewalk, with his hands in his jacket pockets. “Hey Reg,” Archie calls before he can join Toni. Reggie turns around. “Are you still going to Vail on Wednesday?”

A grin shows up on his friend’s face, a little devilish. “Sure am.”

Archie smiles too. “Count me in.”

It’s almost seven when Jughead leaves The Blend’s staff restroom, back in his normal clothes. He puts the folded pile with his barista uniform in the provided locker and heads back to the coffee bar, where Fangs is wiping the counter clean.

“And I’m out,” Jughead announces. “Thanks for doing that again.”

It’s his last shift at the coffee shop before his well-needed break — not that it will be an actual break, since he has two big AP Literature papers to turn in as soon as school resumes _and_ he promised to volunteer with his dad at the soup kitchen on Christmas day. But at least Fangs agreed on taking his shifts until the 27th, so he’ll save the long commutes between Brooklyn and the Upper East Side at least until then.

“No worries. Merry Christmas, Jug,” Fangs says. Jughead is about to say it back and step out when it hits him — he won’t set foot in this part of town for a week and when he’s back, Betty and her family won’t be in New York anymore, at least not until after New Year’s.

“Actually, uh,” Jughead turns around, “can you give me a box of the shortbread cookies?” He asks Fangs, pointing at the Holiday Special boxes to dress up the confectioneries they sell. “The pretty one.”

“Dude,” Fangs lifts one eyebrow, “these are twenty bucks. You can’t take them like—” he stops when he sees Jughead with a crumpled twenty dollar bill in hand. “Oh, ok. What about taxes?”

Ten minutes later Jughead is walking in the opposite direction of the subway station. He’s done his path several times now, from the coffee shop to the tree-lined street that doesn’t even look like it belongs in Manhattan. It’s colder now that the sun has set — he feels it especially in his nostrils and lips.

He’s not _really_ sure if he should be doing what he’s doing — just showing up at Betty’s doorstep without prior warning but he decides that if he thinks about it too much, he’ll end up talking himself out of it.

When he arrives at her doorstep the coiling in his stomach tells him that maybe this _was_ a bad idea. Betty’s mom would certainly open the door and he’d have to come up with some stupid excuse of why he’s not leaving her daughter alone to her family time when school _and_ the paper are on a break. She’ll just glare at him up and down with that pointy eyebrow and look at him with that slight look of distaste, the _you’re not good enough to_ — _work, be seen, talk,_ choose the preferred verb — _with my daughter_ one.

But he blows out a breath and rings the bell anyway. It’s almost Christmas and, by the size of the wreath on the door, it’s probably a favorite holiday at the Cooper’s. Maybe Mrs. Cooper won’t be such a—

“Juggie?”

“Betty. Hi.” Jughead swallows the word he was thinking about. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Betty smiles, looking surprised. She’s wearing a sweater, white with one big grey snowflake on it, and black leggings. “Are you ok? Did you text me? I don’t think I g—”

“I didn’t text, no,” Jughead scratches the back of his head. “I— I’m heading to Brooklyn and I won’t be back before you’re… gone upstate, so I thought… I bought this for you,” he hands her the cookie tin. It looks like a dumb last minute gift with The Blend’s branding all over the metal, but it _is_ sort of a dumb last minute gift. “They’re the shortbreads you like. You know, to make up for all the cupcakes I ate the other day.”

She smiles at him very softly and he’s so glad he decided to be spontaneous.

“The ones that you baked to benefit Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital.” He smirks.

She giggles at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest.

He doesn’t know what, or who, overtakes his body but before she can drop her hands, Jughead reaches out to gently touch her wrists.

Betty bites down on her pink bottom lip, green eyes sparking under the porch light and he swears something is happening deep in his chest.

“I… Didn’t get you anything. I didn’t think you’d—”

He shakes his head to interrupt her. “Merry Christmas, Betts.”

“Merry Christmas, Jug.”

Almost simultaneously, both sets of lips curl into little smiles, understanding. Jughead lets go of her wrists and she steps back into the house, closing the door. He turns around to leave, heaving out a breath and feeling a little more hopeful than he did on the way over.

“Jughead!” He’s halfway down her block when he hears Betty calling him. He turns around to see her walking fast in his direction, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Yeah?”

She’s a little out of breath when she starts speaking. “I didn’t get you anything, but I thought I should say that you… You’re important to me,” she says, looking up at him with big, honest eyes. “You’ve changed everything about working at the paper, you’ve made it _fun_ again. And you kind of understand me like no one else ever has and you somehow improved my Netflix queue.”

Jughead lips part in surprise.

“Also…” she swallows. Jughead waits, his heart beating fast, as he tries to guess what’s coming next. But he couldn’t guess that Betty would rise up on her tiptoes to cup his jaw and plant her lips gently on his.

It feels like everything is right in his world, at this moment, being this close after admiring her while she typed on her laptop during his shifts in the coffee shop or the way the light hit her face when they were meeting deadlines in the office, making her blonde hair shine just a little brighter.

She smiles when she breaks the kiss. Jughead breathes in and out, opening his eyes to see the soft lashes framing her eyes, watching as something lands on the tips.

Everything slows around them, a few flurries floating and falling between them. Jughead tips his head back to make sure it’s _actually_ snowing. She opens her eyes too and a snowflake lands on her cheek, melting immediately against the rosy hue.

“You… Said you didn’t get me anything for Christmas,” he says with a smile, happiness blooming in his chest like never before. “Were you holding out on the snow?”

Betty grins widely as she looks around, her hands resting on his shoulders. “I told you, I know people.”

Jughead laughs and pulls her closer by the waist, kissing her again under the falling snow, all the holiday magic being restored.

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _the girl next door and the boy across the bridge, kissing under the metaphorical mistletoe. the elves tell us his name is **#jugheadjones**. is this a christmas miracle, or a budding romance for the pages?_

* * *

The Five Seasons certainly isn’t _shabby_ but it’s nowhere near as decorated as their home used to be at The Pembrooke. Before the divorce, Christmas was Veronica’s favorite holiday. She still loves it, but it might never be the same again.

Andre and Smithers set up a makeshift tree, filled with none of the Lodge’s crystal and silver ornaments. Hermione purchased a few scented candles to fill the suite but no aroma of homemade cooking— since they’re now without a chef. The roaring fire before her makes it feel the most like Christmas, knees tucked under her legs with a faux mink blanket covering her thighs.

Veronica sits on the ivory upholstered lounge, phone in hand as she rewatches the video on Archie’s _YouTube_ link that was on the Blue and Gold.

_A thousand other boys could never reach you… How could I have been the one?_

She feels weird for not being part of this project, for not knowing any of it, for having talked to him earlier in the week without him mentioning any of it.

It’s a bittersweet, lonely realization, the fact that Archie’s music doesn’t belong to _them_ anymore. Still, she gives him a thumbs up, she subscribes to the channel, she reloads the page to see if anyone new comments another _this is great! you’re so talented!_ and variations of that.

She delights in her pride and wistfulness over him before forcing herself to move on with her thoughts. Almost immediately, the powder room tryst with Cheryl in Mariebelle replays in her mind.

Being with Cheryl is fun, _thrilling,_ and even better knowing that no one will get _hurt_ if they were to actually pursue a little more than this. It is ironic though, heart clenching just a bit thinking that the one who will probably be the most thrown is Betty. But, as much as things are very much under wraps right now, it’s not _forbidden_. It’s not _wrong_.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Veronica removes her glasses, setting her phone down on the glass coffee table. She slips her bare feet into the satin slippers, padding through the living room as she cinches the black robe a little tighter around her waist.

She opens the door and _smells her_ almost instantly, the familiar cloud of her perfume enveloping her in the warm hallway.

“Cheryl? What are you doing here?”

The redhead looks beautiful, maybe even a little nervous which makes Veronica’s heart stutter. She’s wearing an emerald coat paired with a little bough of holly brooch. She shoulders a large Prada tote bag and changes her demeanor, bumping Veronica’s shoulder and forcing her way into the hotel suite.

“Just because we’re doing — whatever it is that we’re doing — does not mean that Cheryl Blossom won’t uphold the most cherished of holiday traditions. It’s the Saturday before Christmas and I’m sleeping over.”

The thought of sharing a bed with Cheryl has never phased her, seeing her friend naked countless times and even more nights spent sleeping next to her. But now, she’s alerted by some sudden pulsing between her thighs.

Veronica doesn’t answer, just shuts the door and takes Cheryl’s hand, walking them back to her bedroom.

As soon as they're inside, Cheryl barely tosses her leather bag on the vanity stool before Veronica pushes her up against the wall and kisses her. It starts off sweet but grows heavier by the second.

“I like this tradition,” Veronica says against Cheryl’s mouth. The redhead smiles, cupping her face and kissing her again. “Did you bring me a present?”

Cheryl giggles, walking her back until her back hits the mattress. Her mouth on her neck makes Veronica’s brain go blank from any other song that isn’t the girl’s breath against her skin.

* * *

_hear those silver bells? it’s christmas eve in the city. we wonder what santa will bring to you on this white, wonderful evening. some gifts are for keeps. some gifts might end up getting returned. some boxes you can close, and some, you should never open. but we think that the best thing about the yuletide, is the presents that come when you least expect them..._

* * *

“Jughead! JUGHEAD! I’m going to kill you!”

Jughead is confused as he leaves his bedroom. In the living room-turned dining room for Christmas, Jellybean is fuming. She’s been cooking the entire afternoon and she’s wearing an apron that’s dirty with flour, her hair pulled up and escaping all over the place.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Did you invite Archie and his dad for dinner and didn’t tell me?! Jughead, I have to _change!_ The food is a disaster and my hair is a _mess_ , if Archie sees me like this… How could you do this to me?”

“Are you insane? I didn’t invite anyone.”

“Then why do we have two extra seats on the table?”

Jughead looks down at the table his dad set earlier before jumping into the shower. There are, indeed, five seats instead of three. Jughead freezes. Could it be… He looks up at Jellybean and she opens her mouth, both pairs of blue eyes communicating silently.

_Mom. And Gene._

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and looks around, as if he can find a solution in the living room.

The bell rings, suddenly, making his heart jump. Couldn’t his dad at least have _told_ them? Couldn’t he have _prepared_ them for spending another holiday with their mom’s new husband?

The bell rings again.

“Kids, can you open? I’m just finishing getting ready here,” his dad yells from his room. Jellybean and Jughead keep staring at each other.

“I cooked,” she says, quickly.

“And I’m older,” he glares at her. In fact, he just wants her to open the door because he isn’t sure that he’d be able to smile when he does it. He needs at least two minutes to get used to the idea. “C’mon, JB.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she takes off the apron and moves to the door when the third ring comes. Jughead runs a hand through his hair as he waits. “H— hi?”

“Oh, hello. You must be Jellybean.” A woman’s voice Jughead doesn’t recognize comes from the door.

He frowns, looking over JB’s head to see who the guests are, when his mouth hangs open.

“ _Jughead_?!”

“Veronica?!”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀 SO! Just as Betty and Jughead took their next step, it seems like FP and Hermione got closer again, bringing one unexpected It Girl to the Christmas Eve dinner. Both Archie and Veronica are decided to move on: with Cheryl and with Toni? Or whoever gives him the DTF eyes in Vail as he skis with Reggie? Some bromance, some core four, some shopping shenanigans, some hot girl sex that we deserve. But who is the Blue and Gold?
> 
> We are so grateful for the amazing response this fic is getting from all parts of fandom! We know that the Varchies are going through a test of endurance, we are too, but please hold on and try to enjoy the scandalous ride! We looooved writing Bughead in this chapter. Kudos to whoever gets some parallels from their first kiss in the show! We love you, thank you so much for sticking with us. xoxo
> 
> Holiday-ish playlist:
> 
>   * Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt (the Spence choir song)
>   * One Week of Danger - The Virgins (just a reprise when we have the small cheronica flashback)
>   * Sour Cherry - The Kills (chapter theme song, cheronica in the bathroom, this song is iconic)
>   * All That I Want - The Weepies (FP and Hermione's scenes)
>   * The General Specific - Band of Horses (Jughead and Betty in Bryant Park)
>   * Lost - Emily Afton (Bughead kiss!)
>   * Last Christmas - Wham (if you think of an ending montage, that's the song playing)
> 



	9. #bowdownorbowout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey upper east siders! We took a little longer than usual with this chapter for a series of real life reasons, but we're back. First of all let us say that the support for this fic continues to amaze us, and that we were nominated for the 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards! 😭😭 THANK YOU, GUYS!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little "original", not really inspired by any of the episodes, but I hope you guys have fun with what we came up with. Those who are crying over Varchie: we hear you, but this is a journey 😉 Multiships, multicharacters. Some interesting dynamics in this chapter. We hope you guys enjoy it as much as we did! 💋

**—take only what you need from it—**

****

_happy new year, upper east siders! blue and gold here, welcoming you to 2019. manhattanites who flew south chasing the sun have returned to their park avenue perches, which means we have a lot of catching up to do. so settle in!_

_word is that **#veronicalodge** and **#cherylblossom** rightfully ran the town while their friends migrated elsewhere. did you see how hot they looked stumbling out of the gansevoort? go queens! meanwhile, handmaiden **#bettycooper** spent the holidays playing parcheesi upstate all alone. wherefore art thou, romeo?_

* * *

“And my mom just kept pressing about it after the Blue and Gold posted that blast. It would have been nice to keep _some_ privacy but as always….”

“Was there even anyone on your street when they posted the blast? That’s crazy.”

The January sun shines down as Betty and Veronica hurry up 91st Street, providing the slightest bit of warmth around them. Their coffees are steaming and their arms are linked on the first day back to school. She hasn’t seen her best friend since before Christmas, and it’s nice to finally catch up.

They _do_ have a lot to talk about.

She tugs her houndstooth Balmain coat closer to her body, grateful today for the double-lining.

“I swear to God I’m starting to think my _mom_ is the Blue and Gold and was just… peeking through the window or something.”

Veronica chuckles. She wouldn’t put it past Alice Cooper to be the anonymous Twitter account that follows teenagers around.

“But honestly,” Betty goes on before Veronica can comment. It’s always like this when B comes back from the Adirondacks — she has a _lot_ to say after spending so much time in the quiet and swallowing her opinions. “She just kept going on and on about how Jughead isn’t a _legacy_ and how he looks like he doesn’t shower. I mean, c’mon, you _have_ to be so petty to think that. Besides, he’s from _Brooklyn_ , it’s not like he’s a beggar.”

Veronica sighs. Christmas at the Joneses — probably one of the weirdest times of her life — comes back to her mind. Yes, Jughead wasn’t a beggar, even though his home was a lot more modest than anything she’s ever witnessed.

She’s been thinking about the strangeness of Jughead's father being so chummy with her mother. After the bizarre Christmas dinner _and_ some pressure from Veronica, Hermione admitted that she and FP Jones knew each other as teens. She said he was an old friend from her childhood neighborhood who had recently run into her and thought it would be nice to invite them for dinner in Brooklyn.

She always knew her mom was originally from the other side of the bridge despite adapting so well to the Upper East Side lifestyle. However, with her grandma passing before Veronica was even born, they never visited the neighborhood. It was just so crazy to think that her mom would still have friends who were once close enough to — after years of radio silence — invite them for such a family affair.

(Unless, of course, they weren’t — or aren’t — _just friends_. Veronica doesn’t even want to think about that.)

“It’s just so hypocritical of her. Archie’s dad is from Brooklyn too, and my mom never said a word about his hygiene or status, but the minute I’m with someone else she’s all over my case.”

“Are you _with_ Jughead, then?” Veronica asks. She knew about the kiss when she walked through the Jones’ door on Christmas Eve, but throughout the evening she never asked Jughead anything about it while still trying to get her head around what was going on.

“I mean… I think so. I don’t know. We kissed, and it was amazing, then we texted a few times but… I guess we’re going to find out.”

“You look optimistic,” Veronica smiles. She wants to tell Betty about the whole thing with her mom, his dad, and their awkward encounter, but she just needs to find the right opening.

“I am. I really am,” Betty smiles too and it’s so sweet that Veronica feels her face muscles softening. “I don’t know, V. I don’t mean to poke you about it or anything but… this time it’s like, he’s just _mine_ , you know?”

Veronica quickly swallows down any words that may have been lingering on her tongue. Maybe this _isn’t_ the right time to say that things went quite well between her and Jughead, despite it all — he wasn’t horrible company or anything.

They even exchanged numbers so he could recommend her movies about the French Revolution.

“So, what about _your_ holidays?” Betty asks before she can muster a reply. “We only talked on the phone during yours and Cheryl’s drunk-dial on New Year’s Eve.”

Veronica laughs, vaguely remembering when she and Cheryl were atop the Standard Hotel’s rooftop and calling Betty until she picked up.

“It was nice to be back in New York this year,” she replies truthfully.

Veronica _did_ have a great time with Cheryl over break. It was fun to fall into their old-new routine and allowing the tension from the last month ease ever so slightly. They stayed out until the early hours of morning, as they tended to do when Betty was away. They did a few laps up Madison to shop for their 2019 wardrobe and indulged in more than a few _sleepovers_ after Cheryl showed up at the Five Seasons.

“Can you believe Archie started a YouTube channel?” Betty asks, again interrupting Veronica’s thoughts entirely. Her eyes are alight with pride with just a hint of curiosity flickering within the green irises. “Did you watch any of the videos?”

Of course she watched the videos, watched them repeatedly if she were being completely honest. She watched them even when she shouldn’t be watching them, like after a rejuvenating facial at the Silver Mirror, waiting for Cheryl to finish with her esthetician.

“I’m proud of him,” Veronica announces. It’s not a lie.

Betty smiles at her softly, eyes giving off a knowing glint. “Me, too.”

* * *

_still on our faves, we can’t help but notice the growing hits on **#archieandrews** ’ youtube channel. has our golden boy finally found a new crowd to please? regardless, it was nice to learn our favorite ginger stallion is finally accepting riders. tell us, have you swiped right or subscribed yet?_

* * *

“How many subscribers do you have now?” Jughead asks, fastening a higher button on his flannel jacket and blows on the coffee in his hands.

The boys cross Park Avenue and Jughead groans, already seeing familiar faces donning similar uniforms to his own. He didn’t see Archie over break, only resuming their daily commute uptown this morning. Toni has kept him up-to-date on the channel the last few weeks, though.

“Around three thousand. It’s crazy, I didn’t even think it would break _one_ thousand so fast.” Archie shakes his head in what appears to be disbelief but Jughead knows he was nervous about the projected exposure.

“Yeah, Toni told me the last video really blew up.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s only because the Blue and Gold tagged Reggie when they promoted it, even though he just pops in the background for like four seconds.”

Jughead snorts, remembering reading something about the two during their trip to Colorado and the cameo Reggie made in Archie’s homemade music video.

“ _Or_ it’s because it was recorded in a chalet in Vail and you were singing _When the Stars Go Blue_. Not to mention the romantic fire in the background.”

Archie chuckles, his cheekbones acquiring that usual blush. “The setting was special, I agree,” he says. Jughead laughs a little. Archie looks like he had fun during the holidays and, considering how his first half of the school year went, Jughead thinks he deserves it. “How was _your_ break, anyway?” he asks, and there’s a hint of tease in his voice. “You know, Reggie showed me the blast.”

 _His_ cheeks burn, this time. A couple of nights after he and Betty kissed — in fact, _Christmas Eve_ night after the Lodges just casually stopped by to have dinner with his family — Jughead had a dream where they were all sitting around a decorated Christmas table, dressed in old fashioned clothes. Archie and Veronica were sitting together across from him and Betty, who was holding his hand and, while Jughead panicked because _whatthefuck_ , Archie got up to make a toast.

_“To my friend Jughead Jones, who stabbed me in the back!”_

Then Archie turned around and there it was, a knife in the middle of his shoulder blades.

Jughead still doesn’t know what prompted that dream. Was it kissing Betty or spending Christmas with Veronica?

“Well, yeah,” Jughead scratches his hair over his beanie, “we might have had a moment.”

Archie smiles, knowingly. It makes the tension in Jughead’s chest soften just a little. Not that anything beyond a few messages here and there happened since then. He’s been wondering what their first day back at school _and_ the paper would be like, a few possible scenarios in his head. Some do feature the taste of vanilla.

“It’s pretty much up in the air for now, you know. She was gone for a couple of weeks too and our texting just… Kind of stopped at some point,” Jughead says, sighing. “But break was good, break was… Uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary like skiing in Vail and being on Snapchat with a bunch of girls.”

Along with watching his uploaded videos on YouTube, Jughead did see the late-night pictures on the social platform of Archie and various _ski bunnies_ , as Mantle had tagged them.

“You can’t really judge me for trying to move on.”

“Wha— I’d never _judge_ you,” Jughead says quickly, “I encouraged you to do it, remember?”

He hates to give any credit to Reggie Mantle, but he has to admit that he was probably the right _wing man_ for Archie’s time away.

“Yeah. And it turns out you were right,” Archie heaves a breath. “I couldn’t possibly spend my entire life waiting for Veronica, you know?” He says. Jughead frowns. He sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself of something. “You haven’t… Seen her around, have you? During break?”

“ _Me?_ ” Jughead’s aware that his voice comes out at a higher pitch than it should. He, of course, intended to tell Archie what he’s learned about his father and Hermione Lodge, but he should probably wait for the right time. “Veronica Lodge probably wouldn’t be caught dead near the places I go without a tetanus shot or something.”

“She’s not like that,” Archie says, and it sounds a little defensive.

Jughead raises his eyebrows. He can’t possibly tell his friend all about his conversation with Veronica actually flowing well as they dove into topics touching on film and literature, even though her taste was too _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ for him. But it’s so refreshing to see Archie feeling better about the whole thing that Jughead doesn’t want to throw a wrench in it all by dropping her name all of a sudden.

In the back of his mind, he’s also wondering the same for his father. He has to give the man credit, but Jughead knows what kinds of vices come with the Upper East Side. He wonders if _hanging out_ — that’s exactly how FP put it — with Hermione Lodge, the woman who once broke his heart, could mean anything to his seven year sobriety.

“I’m just joking. I know she’s not _that_ bad.” Jughead places his hand on Archie’s back, right where he got stabbed in the dream.

* * *

_so, the only question that remains now is… what will become of **#bughead**?_

* * *

Betty tightens her ponytail and finds herself re-shuffling a stack of papers. After parting with Veronica, a wave of nerves find their way surging through her belly as she waits for Jughead to walk into the Register’s office.

As if on cue when the early bell rings, his frame leans up against the door and he offers a small smile at her. It’s a little unnerving, though in a _good_ way, when she spots the hint of a twinkle in his blue eyes across the room.

There’s an organized pile of printed blasts on their combined drafting table, too much clutter for her own neat desk, and she feels more determined than ever to lay out her cards to Jughead.

He approaches the work space and smiles a little wider. “Hey.”

Betty meets his gaze and worries her glossed lip between her teeth, happy to see him after what feels like so long. She took her time getting ready this morning — even though Jughead has already seen her with dark circles under her eyes and pimples on her chin after hours of writing, even though they already _kissed,_ she wanted to look good when they met again.

“Hi,” she says, feeling her face warming up despite her confidence. “How… How was your break?” Betty twists the edge of her ponytail around her index finger.

“It was… It was ok.” She notices the way his throat bobs when he swallows, taking a step in her direction. He fiddles with something on his messy desk and Betty waits, wondering if she should take a step too, maybe meet him halfway. “Did you have fun? I… We kinda stopped talking at some point there.”

“Yeah,” Betty lets out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry. Service is bad up there and my mom…” She stops to shake her head in disapproval. Her mom can think _whatever_ she wanted about Jughead’s _upbringing_ or wardrobe — she’s not letting it get to her. It was nice to vent with Veronica about it earlier, but she doesn’t need to tell Jughead any of it. “She stresses about our need to unplug while we’re there and you know, family time and all that.”

“I thought that might be the case.” He offers her a small, honest smile, just one corner of his lip curling up as he looks down for a moment. Betty takes that step towards him and, gathering the same courage that made her run to him on that late afternoon, reaches out to touch his wrist.

Jughead lifts his head and his blue eyes meet hers. He flips his palm, weaving their fingers together and Betty looks up too, inhaling deeply and holding the air inside of her.

A few soft touches along her hand has Betty leaning in, savoring the now familiar scents of Jughead Jones — a hint of spearmint and the strong aroma of dark roast. His free hand finds her neck and cradles her jaw, sweetly planting the kiss she’d been hoping for since the last time she saw him. Betty feels her eyelids soften and her eyelashes flutter as she exhales into the kiss.

His tongue leaves a wet spot along her bottom lip and their noses touch as their mouths break apart. She feels him smile and ends up doing the same.

“Did you find anything of use in the blasts you looked through?” Betty asks, holding on to his jacket’s lapel as she opens her eyes.

He scoffs, the reverberations from his throat moving beneath her fingers. “Is that _really_ what you’re thinking about?”

She pecks the side of this mouth and keeps talking. “C’mon, Juggie, did you find anything?”

Jughead heaves a breath and looks over her face before running a hand down his own. “I think the only common denominator is the Blue and Gold’s clear _fascination_ with the elitist teens they report on. Not sure if there’s anything else there.”

“Well, I think there is.” Betty holds her head up. The Blue and Gold has been off her case ever since the blast about the kiss, but she will _not_ give up on finding out their true identity. “We’ll just have to keep digging,” she concludes with a bright smile.

He laughs quietly and leans in to kiss her cheek. “Sure thing, boss.”

“So I couldn’t tell her. And I don’t think I can yet.” Veronica readjusts the black-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose and reverts her gaze down to her laptop to continue typing. Cheryl frowns, wondering what Veronica means by that. They hadn’t discussed telling Betty _anything_ about their… arrangement. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I mean, it’s not a big deal at all. But after she made that comment, I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Cheryl says. So Veronica is just talking about her mother and FP Jones _reconnecting_ their _friendship_ during the holidays. A wave of relief comes over her — it’s not that she doesn’t _want_ people to know about her and Veronica, but it’s been so long since Cheryl had her all to herself, over a year since she left in the first place. She’s not ready to let other people disrupt their peace just yet.

There’s always been a power struggle between them, but when they’re together they might as well be unstoppable and there’s no telling what will come of this.

Discreetly, Cheryl reaches out to fluff a few raven curls and nods in understanding. “I think you did the right thing,” she says, knowing full well Betty Cooper could go thermonuclear if she thought that Veronica spending the holidays with her beanie-wearing shadow meant something else.

“I didn’t want to lie to her, though,” Veronica throws her head back in frustration. She fiddles with the dainty pearl bracelet on her wrist, a longstanding nervous tick of hers. There’s a mark on her neck that’s fading away, nearly gone. Cheryl remembers putting it there on New Year’s Eve.

“Let her infatuation with Mr. Hobo wear off. Then, you can tell her how you didn’t fall ill after breaking bread with the least fortunate and that she might be fine after all.”

Veronica lets out a small giggle, bringing a sly smirk to Cheryl’s face.

“But for now, I need to focus on Model UN.” Veronica says with conviction. “Thank you, for helping me.”

She offers a smile to Cheryl and it’s impossible not to feel something at the sentiment.

“No need for that. It’s a pleasure to be behind-the-scenes for the fall of Donna and St. Bernard’s, after what she did to us,” Cheryl says, still feeling a bitter taste whenever she remembers being played by Donna on such occasion. During the holidays, she and Veronica have seen Donna have brunch with a guy from Dalton at the Mandarin. Maybe her vile ways brought Cheryl and Veronica closer together, which Cheryl supposes it’s a nice thing, but she’s still not over the manipulation and disloyalty. Those aren’t qualities that sit well with her. “Where are you with your arguments for economic growth?”

Veronica looks down her list of topics, checkmarks next to quality education and clean water, tapping her felt tip pen on the next bullet point. Cheryl is content being cooped up in the library, helping her end Donna Sweett like Veronica does everything: gracefully.

She brings up a new document on her computer screen and skims through the pages she’s already written to support her points. Cheryl reads through her words and takes notes as she goes, falling into a rhythm as they silently work in tandem.

Archie shrugs out of his school uniform and hangs up his tie out of habit in the locker room before practice. Today’s the first one since break ended and they’ve got a huge game against Dalton’s hockey team on Friday — it’s probably the only thing Archie missed from school. It’s still Monday, but he’s ready for another break.

Reggie carelessly tosses his gym bag on the bench, opening his locker right next to Archie’s. His friend smiles at him with wiggling eyebrows.

“Jenny asked Sam to ask me about you,” he says, all casual. Archie makes a face. “Relax, I didn’t say anything. Who would have thought that under all the _tortured musician_ vibe you give off, you’d be a certified heartbreaker.” Reggie chides. “But I guess that’s what happens when you date someone for the majority of puberty.”

Archie throws Reggie a look. “I thought you said _what happens in Vail, stays in Vail.”_ He mimics the mantra Reggie repeated throughout their entire trip.

“Look. All I’m saying is that I’m proud to be a part of this _new_ you,” Reggie says.

Archie starts adjusting his shoulder pads. The _new him_. He doesn’t really know what that means — the _new him_ who doesn’t have a longtime girlfriend, who isn’t waiting for the right time anymore, who can definitely just go ahead and kiss someone else, and have _fun_.

Before Jenny, Archie had never kissed any girls who weren’t Betty or Veronica. After Jenny, there had been a bunch, and not just kissing. It was… Nice. Being with someone else who wasn’t Veronica felt a little empty, a little flat, but it was still nice.

He’s yet to find the same enthusiasm for sleeping around that Reggie seems to have, though. Maybe it’s just the matter of _keep trying_ until he actually feels more.

His phone buzzing against the metal locker shakes him out of his thoughts. He reaches for it and smiles when he sees a text from Toni, who he hasn’t seen since before the break.

**_hey red. this band i’m friends with is playing this wednesday. wanna go?_ **

Reggie clears his throat behind him. When Archie turns his head, he sees him hovering over his shoulder.

“Toni asking you out, hmm?” He teases.

Archie hits Reggie with his jersey. “ _Stop_ lurking, you freak.”

Reggie laughs as he dodges from Archie’s attack. “Hey, I told you she was giving you those DTF eyes,” he says.

“You’re the one who gives DTF eyes to everyone, Reggie.”

“Is that supposed to be offensive? You know I reserve the _come-hither_ eyes only for you.” He winks.

Archie laughs despite himself and glances back at his phone, wondering what to say. She isn’t _asking him out_ , she’s just… asking him out. As friends, most likely.

Putting on his jersey, he can’t help but think about it. He’s always found Toni attractive in a different way. He likes the way she dressed, full of interesting layers, and how her hair mutates colors as the pink faded. He’s wondered, a couple of times, if she had more tattoos besides the one on her wrist and the other one on her shoulder that he could see poking out of her shirt when the sleeves were shorter.

Besides, she’s been a good friend to him, always listening to him complaining while serving coffee or the occasional beer. She’s been a huge help with the channel. Of course, none of that means anything other than she’s a good person, but if being with random girls was _nice_ , maybe being with someone _not random_ would be even nicer.

 ** _sure_** , Archie answers after some consideration and adds a winky face for good measure. He regrets it almost immediately when he sends it, the tips of his ears warming up, but it’s too late.

He looks at Reggie again, who’s obviously still lurking. He seems to approve. “If I’m right, the answer will come in ten, nine, eight, seven…”

When the countdown is at _three_ , Archie’s phone buzzes in his hand. **_i’ll text you more deets later_** and a winky face too. Archie feels the flush on his ears go down to his cheekbones.

“Imagine being wrong about things,” Reggie says, smugly. “Can’t relate.”

An Alabama Shakes song starts playing in the background at The Blend, something that Jughead wants to compliment Fangs’ choice before he remembers it’s his own playlist on this time. He smiles briefly to himself while wiping the counter, making a mental note to share said playlist with Betty when they have time.

He wants her to like the things he likes. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt that before, the need to be the right fit for someone. It’s something growing stronger inside him, especially after the magical feeling of their first kiss, and the rollercoaster simulation lurching in his stomach after the second, earlier today.

The bell chimes, signaling a new customer coming through the door. Jughead looks up and he’s surprised to see Veronica Lodge walking in, looking around as if she’s evaluating the place, her designer bag that probably costs more than his entire house settled in the crook of her arm. She tilts her chin up when she sees him, walking straight to the counter. Her heels make her a lot taller than she really is, almost as if those extra inches were all part of her power play.

“You look like you came here with a purpose,” Jughead says, frowning as he takes the place behind the counter. Veronica grabs a small menu, her pearl bracelet glimmering under the soft yellow lights.

“Indeed,” she sets the menu down. “A caramel macchiato, triple espresso.”

Jughead’s eyebrows shoot up but he starts scribbling her order on the side of a cup. “May I suggest almond milk with that?”

She seems to consider, and finally shrugs. “Why not,” she says, swiping the same black credit card that all his preppy schoolmates seem to carry. “Your suggestion that I watch _The Lady and the Duke_ was a good one.”

“I told you, Éric Rohmer knew what he was doing.”

“Roh- _mer_ ,” she says in a French accent, correcting him. Jughead feels the corner of his lips pulling up as he hands the cup over so Fangs can prepare her beverage. “I thought you were in charge of the coffee.”

“We rotate. Fangs here is better than I am at it, though.”

“That is correct,” Fangs says from the coffee machine.

“He also brings us more tips,” he jokes.

When Jughead looks at Veronica again, she’s smiling a little, and fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist. “Is… Betty coming by, today?”

Jughead bites the inner part of his cheek. “Uh. I’m not sure. Maybe. It’s Monday, so she usually tutors until four and…” He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s quarter till now. “Yeah, she might stop by later. Were you hoping to catch her?”

“No,” Veronica answers, her eyes widening a little. “No. I… was hoping to talk to you. You and I have an important subject to disc—”

“Here, sweetheart,” Fangs interrupts her, placing the coffee cup on the counter in front of Veronica. “If you like it, you know what to do.” He taps the tip jar and gives her a wink, in that charming way that gets them more customers.

She huffs a laugh and waits until Fangs leaves to speak again. “ _Discuss_.”

Jughead nods at the express bar. Veronica takes her coffee cup and sits with perfect posture on one of the high stools. He stays silent, waiting for her to start.

“I’ve thought about it and have come to the conclusion that, given the new nature of your relationship with Betty, it would be in our best interest _not_ to mention spending Christmas together. Or… Talking after that. At all.”

Jughead blows out a breath, feeling a little relieved. “Yeah, I think that’s a wise move.”

“Precisely. There _may_ be something brewing between our parents but I think we should see how this plays out and we’ll plan accordingly. Call it best friend’s intuition but knowing that I could become her new boyfriend’s step-sister at any moment could make Betty… unhappy.”

Jughead is glad he and Veronica are on the same page — as much as he doesn’t want to _lie_ to Betty. But between his friendship with Archie and this new treaty with Veronica, he’s been woven a little deeper into Betty’s life.

“Besides,” Veronica continues. “She did say she wanted to officially introduce you, so we should leave it to her.”

Jughead smirks, his heart beating a little faster at the thought of Betty _wanting_ to introduce him to her best friend. “Understood.”

She’s got a satisfied smile on her face and while he agrees with her on this…

“Since we’re discussing things, I think we should leave Archie out of it too.” He crosses his arms in front of him. “I don’t want him to have to worry about this now that he’s moving on.”

There’s a slight twitch of her eyebrow, probably trained to remain in place while wanting to appear collected, when she asks. “Moving on?”

“Yeah, you know, with his life.” He says as though it should be obvious.

Veronica looks over him with a calculated stare, before pulling her lips to a thin line and nodding.

“I suppose so. Yes, deal.”

She extends a hand and he shakes it in reply when Fangs rejoins him at the counter.

“ _Please,_ say you’ll come back.” Fangs says pathetically. “Now that I know what you like, it will be even better.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, laughing a little. No living creature is immune to Veronica Lodge’s charm, it would appear.

She slips a bill in the tip jar, offers a smile to Fangs and collects her bag to leave. Jughead gives her a mock salute and she raises her to-go cup in his direction like a toast.

“Good luck on Model UN.” He wishes.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she says before pushing the glass door and disappearing on the sidewalk.

* * *

_good morning, upper east siders! are you ready for the first big academic event of the year?_

_when they said that democracies don’t go to war with each other, it’s because they haven’t experienced columbia university’s model un, where the politically savvy prepsters gather in lerner hall to prove that they’re learning how to actively rule the world. the delegations are filled with determined strikes and a tense atmosphere. follow **#bgcmunc** for the scalding tea, but careful… you don’t wanna get burned._

* * *

Veronica’s heels click across the marble floors, carrying her in the direction of the ladies’ room for a breather.

Today has been great. She feels like she was born to do this. In Hanover, she kept mostly to herself while the majority of her time was spent immersed in her studies. But being back on the Model UN team, debating _real issues_ , got her heart pumping and she’s missed this rush of adrenaline.

She pushes open the heavy door and manages composure while meeting Donna Sweett’s reflection in the mirror.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Spence’s fallen queen, Veronica Lodge.” With a purse of her lips, the brunette twists on the cap of her gloss and pins her ice-like eyes on Veronica.

“Donna,” she levels back, a calculated smile on her lips.

The girl turns her stance and gives Veronica a once-over. “Glad to have you back in the competition. We missed you during your rehab-related absence last year.”

Veronica scoffs, smacking her lips together. Not everyone got the news about her absence _not_ being rehab-related, but Veronica doesn’t need to defend herself. Not with _Donna_ , anyway. “You’re such a pretty girl, Sweett. Too bad that’s the only thing you’ve got going for you. A shame, really.”

She can see she’s struck a nerve with Donna. The anger nearly vibrates out of her body. Deciding to take this opportunity, Veronica takes a few strides to stand beside the girl at the mirror, setting her leather bag down on the granite counter.

“By the way, nice speech. The one you only got because of Cheryl.” Veronica says coolly, tossing her hair. “But I guess congratulations are in order. Nothing tastes better than winning with dishonesty, right?”

Donna smiles. It’s calculated, almost a smirk. “It’s a shame Blossom is so wound up in your web that she can’t see behind your façade. But not me. I see right through it.”

“Do you really?” Veronica places a leg up on a stool, skirt riding up. She starts straightening out the seams in her stockings, meeting Donna’s eyes in the mirror again. “And what is it that you see?”

“You’re a power-hungry bitch. Or are you going to deny that you’re just here for the clout?”

“You don’t know anything about me, Donna.”

“Don’t I? _Ex-_ monarch but head of the delegation, fucking Spence’s king, stripping in bars… You’re desperate for attention. You miss it. You _crave_ it. I tried to warn Cheryl that you were just waiting for the right moment to dethrone her, but she’s just as blind and dumb as everyone else.”

Veronica internally blanches at the harshness of her words. She sets her leg back down and adjusts her skirt, taking a deep breath before standing right in front of Donna, pointing a manicured nail at her chest.

“Who do you even think you are?”

The moment these words go past Veronica’s lips, she feels something rising in her chest, something that was dormant for a long time. It makes her blood run hot and fast, hoping that when she’s done, Donna has tears in her eyes.

“You were nothing but a _prototype_ when I was crowned. Not even an insignificant pawn on the board yet. You stumbled into this role because your queen got kicked out of school. Everything you’ve done right so far was a lesson _I_ taught someone else.” Veronica shakes her head, sizing up the girl in front of her. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Donna visibly recoils at her words, chin still raised defiantly to stand her ground, but she can’t seem to find anything to say back.

Of course, she can’t.

“See you at the Security Council.”

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _**#veronicalodge** marching in her louboutins, fresh from the french delegation, and putting napoleon to shame as she conquers everything in her path. should we raise an arc du triomphe in her honor?_

* * *

Cheryl’s smile falters minimally while rereading the Blue and Gold’s last lines, gripping her phone a little bit tighter. Her foot is gripped tighter, too, as the nail technician scolds her for moving.

Her heart filled with something akin to pride and _joy_ learning of Veronica’s success today, knowing it was bound to go well. She would have loved to have been there, watching firsthand while Donna and her team floundered.

But Cheryl’s mind has been pestering her with the questions that have plagued her thoughts since she returned to New York in the first place.

Tina and Nancy whisper across the salon, sitting side by side reading a magazine as their hair sets while Ginger raises a questioning eyebrow.

“You remember what Polly used to say when someone would threaten her reign, don’t you?”

She scoffs. She wishes Betty were here to back her up with this but, of course, the blonde turned the mani-pedis down in order to slum it in _Brooklyn_. “Veronica’s not _threatening_ my reign, minion. And I’m sure this isn’t _you_ questioning it.”

Ginger smirks a little, leaning closer across the armrest.

“She used to tap her phone and remind us that _everyone’s_ got dirty secrets to expose, waiting to reach the surface.”

“This victory was one _I_ helped Veronica achieve. We’ve been working together. Really, it’s a win for us all. So what, exactly, are you implying?”

Ginger shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “The Blue and Gold seems to have a different opinion about it.”

“One of these days you’re going to realize that the Blue and Gold works _for me_ ,” Cheryl snaps. “Until then, keep your distance. I can’t stand the smell of treacherous bitch.”

She watches her left foot get a second coat of Big Apple Red as Ginger moves to sit with the other girls. Her words start to settle. Not that she _would_ use them, but Cheryl automatically recalls all the secrets of Veronica’s she’s been withholding, including this newfound relationship they’ve fallen into, or Hermione Lodge’s rehabilitation.

A specific piece of information that could potentially destroy any claims is the dirt with the beanie-wearing peasant and Veronica spending Christmas together. It would be, simultaneously, social damnation _and_ exposure that could hurt her renewed ties with Betty, but Cheryl hasn’t felt any desire to use this knowledge against Veronica. It never even crossed her mind.

Veronica isn’t trying to get the throne back.

Instead of letting these thoughts overwhelm her, Cheryl pulls up the chat with Veronica and shoots her a text. **_congrats, ma belle. let’s celebrate later? my treat, xx_**

She leans back into the massage chair and waits for the reply.

Betty and Jughead walk side-by-side down the sidewalk. The past couple of days have been a mix of adjusting back into school life, stealing kisses in the Register’s office, and not getting anywhere with their investigation. But now, somehow, they’re in Brooklyn.

Jughead holds the door for her, smiling a little sheepishly as he lets her inside. There’s a lingering smell of his fabric softener in his house.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not going to get in trouble?” Jughead asks as he flips on a lightswitch, stepping to help her shrug off her coat and hanging it on a hook next to his.

Betty presses her lips together, her face warm despite just escaping the cold. “My mom thinks I’m still tutoring. I have some time before she calls the cops,” she jokes. She’s a little nervous to be alone with Jughead here, but it’s the good kind of nervous, the one that makes her belly flip.

Betty takes a look around the living room, studying pictures and trying to get an idea of what his family might be like. It’s a small space, with older furniture than what she’s used to seeing on the Upper East Side, but at least it looks like someone actually lives here, different from _her_ house, which is always so put together that you’d think it was always ready for a photo shoot with an interior design magazine.

“Yeah, I know,” Jughead says, his voice acquiring a sarcastic undertone. “Impressive.”

“It’s so cozy,” she says, genuinely, spying a basket filled with half-folded blankets. Betty links her hand through his, reaffirming. She wants him to know that she doesn’t _care_ about any of this, just him.

“Wanna see my room?” He asks, holding her hand back. Betty nods.

Jughead leads her up the narrow staircase, lined with matted beige carpet. That flip in her stomach returns and makes her feel giddy. She’s never been in a boy’s room before, except for Archie’s room (well, and Reggie’s, once during a party, if you can call Ollie’s old place a _room_ ), and it’s just… Different.

There’s dark blue paint on the wall and a chipped wooden dresser with a small lamp on top. He has a twin bed with a plain, gray comforter over it, and only two pillows. The walls are nearly empty except for two movie posters: _Pulp Fiction_ and _Rebel Without a Cause_. She can also see the writing award from last year, framed and hanging over his bed, looking a little out of place like it wasn’t his decision to put it up. Tacked up next to the frame is a picture resembling a younger him and what she supposes is his little sister, two teeth missing from her smile.

On the overstuffed bookcase next to his desk, Betty can see a collection of the Hardy Boys novels. It makes her smile, thinking of her pristine collection to match.

“Oh, Hardy Boys!” She walks towards the bookcase and runs her fingers over the familiar spines. Jughead stands by the door, but she can feel his eyes on her, and his smile too. Looking over her shoulder, she lifts an eyebrow, maybe trying to channel her inner Veronica Lodge. “I have all the Nancy Drew books.”

An even bigger smile comes to Jughead’s lips. “Are you trying to seduce me, Betty Cooper?”

“I don’t know,” Betty answers, her cheeks getting warmer. She turns until her back is against the bookcase. “Is it working?”

Jughead smirks down at her, blue eyes darkening just a little, and she can’t help but laugh. He takes a few steps in her direction, until he’s towering over her. “Yes.”

Jughead leans in to kiss her and she smiles against him, holding him closer when his tongue traces along the seam of her lips. Betty can’t help the breath that escapes once her mouth parts and their tongues touch.

She steps away from the bookshelf, palms flat against his chest as she steers them towards his bed. Betty feels a rush when he gasps a little against her mouth and his hand moves up her side.

By the time she pushes him lightly onto the bed, his hold has become bolder, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater. Sitting beside him, Betty tugs on his tie and brings her other hand up to card her fingers through his hair. She loves his hair.

He situates his body to face her, thumb rubbing soft circles on her hip and brings his other hand to her knee. Betty swallows her breath and kisses him a little deeper when it runs along her thigh, nonsensical patterns over her tights.

Without her even realizing, her head finds his pillow. She opens her eyes, seeing him smiling above her. She watches with rapt attention as he studies her, feeling her heartbeat through her chest. She has gone further with Archie, but not enough to make this completely comfortable.

“I’ve never done this,” she tells Jughead, kinda out of nowhere, probably, if his surprised expression says anything.

“What?” He seems a little confused. Betty understands why — what she just said could mean a lot of things, and they’re not actually doing anything.

“I haven’t…Sex.” She bites her lower lip, her face suddenly on fire. “Or anything.”

Jughead moves the hand from her side up, trailing it up her arm and into her hair. His ministrations are soft and his gaze adoring, smiling reassuringly at her. “That’s ok,” he says. “I haven’t, either. And I’m not thinking about anything other than kissing you again. Right now.”

He plants a sweet kiss on her lips and she’s pliant against his. A pleasant feeling swims in her chest as she opens her mouth to let his tongue in again, one of his hands in her hair and the other on her waist. It feels very different than making out with Archie while her head was racing through other thoughts — it feels quieter. She’s thinking about stuff but it’s his taste, the feel of his hands, his smell.

There’s a loud slam of the front door and they both shake out of their little daze.

“Jughead! I’m home!” A girl calls from downstairs. “Whose coat is this?! Oh, my God, Jughead, _gross_!”

Betty laughs amidst their interruption, watching as Jughead groans and mutters a swear while dragging his hand over his face. “My sister’s here.”

The name of the band is The Pussycats. It’s fitting, since all three members wear leopard prints and headbands with cat ears on them. Josie, the lead vocalist, is Toni’s roommate, Archie comes to learn. Her voice is amazing and, even if they’re only a couple of years older than him, they’re already making it in bigger venues with more exposure than the Wyrm.

It’s exciting to be hanging out in places like this with people so different from him. He’s been meeting a lot of new people, and attracts a bit more attention as his love for music evolves and takes priority in his life.

Archie enjoys the music, quickly learning the chords in his head as he watches from the crowd. Their style is a little punk-rockish, which is nice. By his side, Toni screams lyrics, her recently dyed pink hair all over the place. He smiles at her enthusiasm, trying not to think too hard about Reggie’s assumptions. They are here as _friends_ , and that’s what’s important. Besides, he came to learn that she invited Jughead too, but he claimed to be busy.

Archie imagines it could have to do with a certain blonde.

After the concert ends, Toni pulls him by the hand so they can go backstage, where Josie is already packing up her stuff. There’s a tall guy helping her with the instruments. He and the guy nod awkwardly at each other when Toni jumps on Josie, wrapping her arms around her.

“Hey,” Archie says, extending a hand. “Archie Andrews.”

“Nathan.” The guy shakes his hand.

“ _Please_ ,” Toni says with a little laugh, wrapping her arms around Nathan’s middle. She’s very short next to him. “His name is actually Sweet Pea. We don’t know any Nathan.”

“Shut up, shorty,” Nathan, or Sweet Pea, says, resting his elbow on her head on purpose. Archie chuckles, but feels his cheeks warm up. Maybe that’s Toni’s boyfriend, which just means Reggie _actually_ was wrong about this.

“Sweets, could you carry this for me?” Josie says, nodding at a big backpack. Sweet Pea lets go of Toni, then, to haul the backpack around his shoulder. He presses a quick kiss to Josie’s lips. “Thanks.”

Oh, ok. _Not_ Toni’s boyfriend.

“Mel and Val ducked out and left me to deal with everything, as usual,” Josie tells Toni, who chuckles. Archie stands there for a minute, feeling a little out of place as Josie, Toni and Sweet Pea discuss some logistics about instruments.

Josie takes little interest in him while he shifts his weight back and forth, only looking at him up and down once Toni mentions he’s _the guy from the channel_. His ears definitely go red, which is fitting, because soon Toni is saying, “C’mon, Red, you’re coming with us.”

That’s basically how he ends up in this two-bedroom lofted apartment in Crown Heights, sitting on Toni’s leather couch and sipping from a Heineken that Sweet Pea cracked open. Josie’s been trying to make it with music from the age of fourteen, when she got a kind of illegal job at a record label.

“It’s been a rollercoaster ride, but I think that after finding Val and Mel, I did find my voice too,” she says, taking another sip. The way she looks at him would be sort of intimidating, if he hadn’t known Cheryl Blossom his entire life. “Toni said you already have three thousand subscribers?”

“Three thousand and four hundred,” Toni corrects her. Archie feels his cheeks heating up. “Growing more and more every hour,” she raises her bottle to Archie, smiling proudly at him.

“Fascinating. _Pure talent_ , I’m assuming,” Josie says. There’s something in her voice that Archie isn’t sure about — it’s like she’s being ironic. Or maybe she’s just a little drunk. He frowns, wondering if he should thank her. “Nothing to do with where you live or the way you look.”

“Let’s not, Josephine,” Toni rolls her eyes, patting Josie’s shoulder for a second before she gets up and goes behind the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I think we should call it a day, babes,” Sweet Pea kisses her cheek and sets his beer bottle down. “You got this covered, shorty?”

“Yep,” Toni answers from the kitchen.

Josie sighs, tiredly. “I guess I should go to bed. Yes. Nice to meet you, _Red_.”

As soon as Sweet Pea and Josie leave to her room, Archie gets up and takes the empty beer bottles on the coffee table to where Toni is standing. “Does she hate me?” He asks, quite curious.

Toni giggles. She tied her hair up at some point, and he can see a few pink strands twisted with her choker necklace clasp. “She just thinks it’s unfair that some people have to work their entire lives for something while others just need to show up, basically,” she explains, but she sounds a little amused. “She isn’t wrong.”

Archie swallows, feeling a little bad about it. In fact, it’s true. It’s not really fair that his couple of videos have gotten so much attention — there are people out there that are far more talented than he is, and that never get a chance. “I… I know I’m privileged,” he feels like saying, apologetic.

Toni moves, bracing her arms on the counter and hopping up to sit on top of it. One of her knees brushes against Archie’s hip. He looks over at her, their eyes _actually_ meeting for the first time tonight. “You are a rich white boy with a pretty face, yes,” she says, “but you know what you’re doing with your music. I wouldn’t invest any time if you didn’t.”

She looks at him very intently, the smile on her lips fading a little. Archie feels something happening to his hot face — he remembers Reggie talking about DTF eyes, and ends up chuckling, embarrassed.

It’s when he laughs that Toni kisses him.

He’s taken aback for a second but recovers quickly, kissing her back, kind of immediately opening his mouth against hers. He holds her head with one of his hands, feeling the texture of her colored hair between his fingers. She tastes like beer and is quick to wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

What surprises him the most, as Toni touches him under his t-shirt, tiny hands on his warm skin, is that this feels like something he’s been wanting to do, rather than something he’s just doing.

His lips leave her to catch his breath. He tugs at her shirt, pulling it down to expose more of her collarbones, and presses his mouth to the tattoo on her shoulder.

* * *

_it’s thursday, upper east siders. thirsty yet? we certainly are after wrapping up the first day of model un. some of our favorite royals were poppin’ bottles to celebrate those diplomatic endeavours!_

_and, of course, we have proof sent to the **#bgcmunc**! this holy trinity of beloved queens were spotted together in **#alexandracabot** ’s vip room: her successor, **#judyjohnson** from greenwich, **#donnasweett** from st.bernard's and **#veronicalodge** from spence. but wait. shouldn’t **#cherylblossom** be the one in this list? we wonder why the red queen wasn’t in attendance._

* * *

“Veronica Lodge, hungover on a Thursday morning,” Kevin says, sounding amused, opening the fridge to fetch her a bottle of cold water. They’re in a pharmacy for some needed Advil and she hasn’t lifted her sunglasses yet. “Didn’t think I’d live to witness that. _Old Veronica_ came out to play?”

Veronica sighs. It’s been indeed _a while_ since that happened, but she supposes it’s like ripping off the band-aid. She pushes the Pradas up her forehead, adjusting her eyes to the harsh fluorescent lighting. Kevin laughs lightly but carries the pain relief medicine and her beverage to the checkout counter while she rifles through her bag for her wallet.

“So, like I was telling you, Christmas with my mom up in Vermont was charming as always but I booked a flight and left a few days later.”

Veronica focuses her attention on her friend, uncapping the drink to chase the pill. The past couple of days have been filled to the brim with so much stuff and she feels bad for not having kept up with Kevin, but at least Model UN’s second day starts later on today.

“Wait. _Where_ did you go?”

“I went out to Colorado for New Year’s,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets when they step out of the pharmacy. ”It was last minute but I needed the R&R…”

“Oh, that’s right! You stayed with the boys in Vail?” She tries to remember if Reggie said anything about Kevin joining them.

It’s a short walk to the steps. Despite the cold weather, the wind isn’t harsh today and there’s a lot of warm sunlight.

“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk about with you. Do you remember when I mentio—“

“OMG, it’s V!”

“Veronica!!”

There’s a great wave of colorful coats and bejewled headbands approaching them. She turns to lay a gloved hand on Kevin’s arm when he speaks again. “Let’s continue this later without an audience.”

Veronica laughs, eyeing the girls waving them over. “Ok. Brunch soon, _just us_ , ok?”

It’s mostly the girls from freshman and sophomore years, weirdly led by Ginger, this morning. Veronica briefly wonders where Cheryl is before she’s bombarded with questions as soon as the minions ascend the steps.

“Is it true you spent the whole night party hopping with Alexandra Cabot?”

It’s a blonde, petite girl Veronica never really talked to before who asks. Her voice is kind of high-pitched, adding to Veronica’s headache. “Yeah,” she says. “She was at the Boom Boom Room, she invited us to join her.”

They all seem eager to know more, almost jumping with this piece of information. Veronica saw something about it in the Blue and Gold — followed by a mean, witty comment about her trying to steal Cheryl’s crown or whatever — but didn’t think it would be such a fuss.

“When are you going out with her again?”

“Did you exchange numbers? Do you think she would meet us?”

“Her feed is literally _goals_!”

“Will you let her do your makeup for a video?!”

“Uhm…” Veronica almost laughs. Alexandra, the last queen of Greenwich, is a big sensation — her Youtube Channel and Instagram has a bazillion followers, maybe one of the biggest in the US, and she’s on to launch her own makeup line — but Veronica never thought that being in the same place as her would cause such a frenzy with the girls. “Yeah, I got her number,” it’s all she can really answer.

“You have _Alexandra Cabot_ on _speed dial_ now?” Kevin is the one who asks, shocked.

Veronica is about to reply, when she sees Cheryl crossing the street in their direction, the light wind blowing out her red curls. Their eyes meet and she realizes that _yes_ , what she feared has happened — the Blue and Gold, paired with the text message she’d only seen at two in the morning, managed to get Cheryl upset.

“Give me a moment, girls,” Veronica says, robotically handing Kevin the water bottle for him to hold, and walking down the steps so she can meet Cheryl halfway. “Hi.”

The look on Cheryl’s face is half annoyed and half hurt.

“I’m so sorry about last night, Cher.” Veronica reaches out with a sincere apology, watching Cheryl recoil slightly at the gesture. “All the teams went out to celebrate with dinner and drinks at the Polo Club after the match, then we—”

“I don’t need your excuse,” Cheryl waves her hand in dismissal, “but I don’t like being ignored. By _anyone._ ”

There’s a weighing guilt in the pit of her stomach. Their eyes are locked. “This stuff that the Blue and Gold said is just poison. You know that I’m not in this to try and take your place, or—”

“You made the choice to hang out with _Donna_ ,” Cheryl cuts her off. “That tells me all I need to know.”

She brushes her shoulder against Veronica’s and walks by her.

* * *

**_spotted: v_ ** _and **c** crossing swords at the met steps. haven’t you learned yet? a sovereign nation can’t have two rightful rulers. and from what we remember, one of them never even had a proper coronation._

* * *

Betty adjusts her yellow ear warmers and scans the entrance for Veronica. Jughead has already teased her about wearing the quilted headpiece _inside_ but the ice rink is freezing, and her high ponytail did not help her exposed ears.

She feels happier today, considering she hasn’t had to endure face time with her mother aside from breakfast this morning, when Alice Cooper had berated her after reading about Betty’s trip to Brooklyn (the Blue and Gold, somehow, got scoop on her getting an Uber back across town).

But _whatever_. She won’t be intimidated by her mother’s outdated opinions. It’s the first hockey game of the season and while she and Veronica traditionally attended together to cheer on Archie, this year, she’s also using the outing as her first public appearance with Jughead.

_Together._

Alone on the upper bleacher, she scans the entrance again and smiles in delight at the dark-haired girl breezing through the doors. She waves Veronica down and unfolds the plaid blanket from her tote bag.

“V!” Betty greets, reaching her arms out for her best friend. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it. Veronica Lodge loves tradition,” she says. “Plus, I passed on celebrating with the Model UN team. I wouldn’t be able to stand another joke from Bret. By the way, you look adorable, B.”

Betty blushes and the heat is welcome on her face. “So, Jughead is getting hot chocolate. He’ll be back in a sec.”

“Ah,” Veronica kinks an eyebrow, eyes roaming the arena and away from her. “Today’s the day I’ll finally meet the elusive _Juggie_.”

“Yes! Surprise!” Betty claps her hands and watches as Veronica toys with the buttons on her coat.

The conversation is cut short when Jughead smiles at her, walking with a fully loaded cup carrier of steaming drinks to their section. His eyes fall to Veronica and his smile falters. Betty is determined for them to get along. She doesn’t Jughead to think of her like he does Cheryl or some of the other girls.

She might be the only thing that Jughead and Veronica have in common, but it’s important that they at least _try_.

“Betts,” he hands out a hot chocolate for her. “And I’ll assume the extra one was for... Veronica? Hello, by the way. I’m Jughead Jones, the Third.”

Betty laughs at his awkward, yet attempted casual greeting, endeared that he’s trying.

“Jughead Jones, _the Third_?” Veronica asks. There’s a hint of tease in her voice. Betty narrows her eyes, hoping that Veronica knows she should be _nice_. “There were two more before you?”

He moves across the steel bench one level down, climbing back up to sit on the other side of Betty, leaving her right in the middle as the teams make their way onto the ice.

“Haven’t you heard? I come from a long royal lineage,” Jughead says in a sarcastic tone. Betty elbows him lightly. She sees Veronica _quasi_ -rolling her eyes, but instead she just blows off steam from her cup, a smirk on her lips. “How was Model UN anyway? Did France finally avenge the hundred-years war?”

Betty frowns, wondering how Jughead even knows about the competition, until she remembers that he’s the one writing the article for the Register. She shakes her head, feeling stupid for thinking it could be anything else — all of this suspicion is something that she needs to work on.

“Oh, definitely,” Veronica quickly responds. “We nailed it.”

She smiles at her best friend, feeling proud. Veronica smiles back, linking one arm with her and leaning her head on her shoulder. On her right side, Jughead holds her hand and brings it to his lips, planting a quick kiss.

Betty doesn’t care what Alice Cooper thinks about her being with Jughead or hanging out with Veronica. All she knows is her heart is full between her newest and oldest favorite people on the planet.

Veronica plucks another piece of her white cotton candy. Betty and Jughead left her alone along the outskirts of the rink and marched behind the penalty box waiting to interview the players as the game ended.

She’s glad that the surprise encounter with Jughead ended up going well without any slips. She enjoyed the entire game with them in the stands. It helped to have Betty as their literal buffer while sticking to the safer topics of discussion.

Betty is interviewing Reggie, while Jughead talks to Moose Mason. Veronica has to admit it’s nice that her best friend finally has someone so capable helping with the paper — with some smooching as an added perk. Seeing Betty so happy today makes her sure that she and Jughead made the right choice by not telling her about their Christmas run in. They _will_ tell Betty more as soon as there’s anything _more_ to tell.

It’s been a nice distraction from all of the fuss from the past days. Between Donna, her night out with Alexandra, and the competition itself, Model UN ended up being very eventful.

At least it makes one problem in her life a little easier at the moment. Cheryl hasn’t spoken to her since yesterday at the steps, blatantly ignoring her apology text. Veronica has no idea how she’ll make things right, and the Blue and Gold blasts weren’t helping.

She looks back at her friends and giggles when Reggie reaches out a hand to flick one of Betty’s ear muffs. Betty bats his hand away, making an annoyed face, and he laughs loudly.

She catches a flash of red hair in the corner of her eye. She spins and sees Archie in the middle of the rink, his cheeks red after the game.

“Archie!” She calls. It’s part of the tradition — eat cotton candy and talk to him after the game. It’s how they keep winning. At least it’s what they used to joke about, before.

He skates up to her with a boyish smile.

“Hi, teen outlander!” She bats her eyelashes for good measure. “Haven’t seen you since the bazaar.”

He chuckles and the red tint of his face deepens. “Hey, Ronnie. You came.”

“I wouldn't miss it. Here’s some cotton candy to lift your spirits.” She smiles, offering him a piece like no time has passed. His eyes crinkle as his smile widens. “This year feels kinda different, though, since, you know…” She wiggles her eyebrows in Betty and Jughead’s direction. Both Moose and Reggie have been set free from their interviews, and now Jughead has his arms wrapped around her.

Archie glances over at him, half-frowning, half-smiling. “Who would’ve thought.”

Veronica brings a hand to her chest dramatically. “Veronica Lodge approves.”

She smirks when she catches him chuckling at her. “Yeah, Jughead’s a good guy. He’ll take care of her.”

Nodding in agreement, Veronica takes one more look at the new couple. “So… How was your break? It certainly looked like you and Reggie had a good time.”

He blows out a breath. “Well…”

In between watching videos of his song covers, she didn’t miss the candid pictures from their boys’ trip, or Jughead’s seemingly innocuous comment about Archie _moving on with his life_. She stops herself from going there, and refrains from having thoughts she shouldn’t be having...

“How about your break?” Archie steals another piece of her cotton candy, raising a thick copper brow. “Any midnight kiss?”

She thinks of her New Year’s Eve with Cheryl, and the several kisses they shared. It’s a little uncomfortable to have this discussion now, even after years of lamenting about her dating life to him. She feels weird, something unsettling in her stomach from the sugar — maybe it’s the fact she and Cheryl haven’t talked things through yet, or that she doesn’t know what it will mean, to say something to _Archie_.

“I am kind of seeing someone, yeah,” she admits. “How about you?”

There’s visible surprise on his face but a small smile nonetheless. “Oh, I’m kinda seeing someone too.” He scratches his head and focuses on his skates.

“That’s… That’s good.” Veronica tries hard to smile and to look genuinely happy for him. In the end, this is what they talked about. What they agreed on. “I’m proud of our… New Year’s Resolutions.”

“Yeah. Totally.” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Veronica bites her lip. That thing building up in her stomach feels more powerful, now. “I— I should go take a shower. It’s freezing.”

Veronica tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, shy all of a sudden. “Sure. I’ll see you around.”

He hangs back for only a few seconds before leaving her with a genuine smile, skating back to where a few straggling teammates exit the rink.

Seeing both Betty and Veronica in the stands with Jughead almost made him feel like he had his own personal cheering section. He was glad they decided to attend, and even more glad that Betty and Jughead were now officially a thing. They deserved to be happy. _She_ deserved it.

However, Archie is still a little disoriented after his talk with Veronica. It was nice to see her, as it always was; to see that they were working hard towards being friends again. But he didn’t expect her to answer _yes_ when he asked if she was seeing someone, even though he knows he has absolutely _no_ say in it,

He has no idea who it could be. He’s put in a lot of effort not to click on her hashtag on the Blue and Gold, and he’s not about to spoil that now. Plus, he told her he’s also been seeing someone, which wasn’t technically a lie — his thing with Toni only happened once, but he feels like it could happen twice. Or maybe regularly.

With heavy steps, Archie trudges up the subway stairs and decides to stop by Pop’s. Maybe he should talk to Toni about where they stand after Wednesday.

They had breakfast together the other day and she drove him back to his dad’s on her bike, so that probably meant something, right?

He knows that part of him just wants it to mean something because whatever Veronica has going on probably _does_ mean something for her, but he enjoyed spending the night with Toni more than the girls in Vail. He likes spending _time_ with her too.

Blowing out a clouded breath, Archie pushes open the door to the diner. It’s busy, as always, on a Friday night. He spots Toni immediately, tending to the packed row of booths. Sitting in one of them, he can see Sweet Pea, Josie, and the other two girls in her band.

Toni taps a pencil twice against her little order book and walks towards the counter, where he’s waiting. She halts for a moment when she sees him. One of the things Archie has learned from his _new phase_ , is that it’s awkward when you’ve already seen each other naked.

“Hey Red,” she greets him like always.

He watches as she recites the orders to the cooks and turns back to face him.

“Hey,” he replies, feeling a little nervous. “So, I was… Thinking. About the other night.”

Toni glances at him, making a face he doesn’t know how to read. “Yeah. About that… I was probably thinking the same thing. We shouldn’t complicate things between us. I want to continue helping you with the channel and… You know.”

“Oh,” Archie says, shoving his hands in his pockets. _Not at all_ what he was thinking. He stares awkwardly at her for a moment, not sure how to react. Betty broke up with him, yes, and there was that emotional talk with Veronica, but he’s never really been dumped before.

“It was nice. Surprisingly good.” She smiles a little. Archie isn’t sure if he should take this as a compliment, but his cheeks heat up. “But I feel like we’ll do better as friends.”

He feels the corner of his lips pull up. He isn’t hurt or anything, and he wouldn’t want to stop being friends with her for any reason. His dad told him something along the lines of _sometimes a friend is better than a girlfriend_ , one day a long time ago, and maybe this is one of those times. “Yeah. That’s fine by me.” He smiles bigger.

They look at each other briefly before someone from the kitchen slides out two steaming plates of food. Toni has them in her hands and on a table nearby within a few seconds, leaving Archie to stand along and contemplate if he’ll stay to eat dinner.

Toni is back behind the counter, ringing up a customer at the register when he decides he might as well order a burger. He’ll stay or he’ll take it home, but he’s hungry.

He feels someone standing in front of the stool next to him, turning to see Josie McCoy with her hands on her hips waiting to speak to her roommate.

“Girl, I know it’s Friday but where are my cheese fries? I’ve been waiting forever.”

Archie winces at the demanding tone but watches as Toni looks at the singer with a smug grin. “They’ll be out when they’re out, Josie. Go be a diva to someone else.” Her tone is teasing and it makes Archie smile. “I’ll check on them now.”

Josie nods her head in agreement, pursing her lips while looking Archie up and down. He feels like he’s being studied, or judged.

“Hi Josie,” he tries.

“Hi, Justin Gingerlake.” She meets him with a smirk. “So, I _may_ have been a little harsh with you the other day. I won’t say I was wrong, because I wasn’t, but perhaps a little unfair.”

His cheeks heat up, thinking about the perspective Toni gave him at her apartment. He’s about to tell her that an explanation is unnecessary, but she interrupts him as soon as he opens his mouth.

“Do you wanna join us?” She nods her head in the direction of her table where her friends and boyfriend sit.

Archie chuckles. He knows he cannot really say _no_ , and he’s got nothing better to do, so he nods his head and quickly orders his burger — and a shake, since he’s staying.

He follows Josie to the booth and Sweet Pea gets up to pull up a chair for him. Archie thanks him and focuses his attention on the two other girls. They’re all very pretty.

“This is Melody.” Josie points to the girl sitting in the corner.

“Oh, on the drums?” Archie asks, remembering their roles during the concert. She smiles, nodding, and reaches out a hand. “Archie. Andrews.”

“You can call me Mel.”

Josie gestures across the table, at the girl who’s sitting closer to him. “And this is Valerie. She writes all our lyrics.”

Valerie smiles at him when she shakes his hand. She has big green eyes and a nose ring.

“I write some lyrics too,” he says, and it sounds a little dumb — in fact, Sweet Pea laughs a little — but Valerie lifts an eyebrow, apparenty interested in what he has to say.

“You do?”

Cheryl sits back against her pillows, scrolling on her phone and plucking another truffle from the gourmet chocolate box.

No rap on her door indicates a visitor, just the glass knob eerily turning before she’s met with a scowl from her mother.

Penelope Blossom stands in the doorway, rubbing her hands with lotion.

“Cheryl, it’s ten o’clock. Why on Earth are you eating carbs?”

Discarding the chocolate, Cheryl begrudgingly tosses the box and her phone on her nightstand. “I’m not anymore.”

Penelope sighs and gives her daughter one more condescending look. “I’m off to bed.”

With that, she thankfully leaves.

Cheryl rolls her eyes and picks up her phone to resume her scrolling, eyes catching on the Blue and Gold’s recent blasts. There’s some unimportant bullshit about Judy Johnson nailing her speech at the Model UN closing ceremony, and things that she knows are just posted to fill gaps — _hashtag_ Reggie Mantle and his Bulldogs going to celebrate their win at Mad River, except for Golden Boy who went back to Brooklyn.

As for _Brooklyn_ , he’s making an appearance once again, sitting with Betty _and_ Veronica at the game like he’s Freaky Friday-ing with 2017 Archie. Cheryl clicks on the pictures of the little trio — Veronica has her head on Betty’s shoulder in some of them, and is clapping in others, smiling brightly.

Cheryl tastes something bitter in her mouth. She doesn’t like that Veronica is out there having the time of her life after she stood her up the other day.

One click and she could end all this happiness. _Spotted, Veronica and Betty’s new beau finally meeting… Except a little Christmas Elf told me it wasn’t their first time. The best friend and the boyfriend. Anyone else smell the heady scent of dèja-vu?_ She could write, and _boom_.

Penelope opens her door again, startling her. Cheryl quickly sets her phone down before she realizes that it’s _not_ Penelope walking into her room, but Veronica, wearing the same clothes that she had on during the game.

“Hi. Jeeves let me in,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Cheryl sits up, pulling her robe closer to her body. “He needs to be fired.”

Veronica huffs out a laugh. Cheryl doesn’t like how her guard goes down without warning as the brunette approaches her bed. “I’m here because you deserve an apology.”

Cheryl tilts her head up. “Carry on.”

“I shouldn’t have ignored your text. The truth is… I was enjoying it. Model UN and talking down at Donna, going out in the middle of the week, the minions pouring out attention. It was all very… _Old Veronica_ nostalgia.” Veronica looks down, toying with the pearl bracelet on her wrist.

She can see that it takes Veronica a lot of courage to say that. Cheryl swallows, feeling that bitter taste in her mouth again. She figures she could give something real, too. “I waited for your reply. I didn’t want to be there because the queens were, I wanted to be there because I wanted to be with you.”

“I should’ve known that,” Veronica says under her breath. “And I also should’ve thought about what it would mean… Getting photographed with Donna _and_ Judy. On top of everything else. I don’t want to take your place, Cher. I guess I could have made _that_ more clear. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Is it even my place, now that you’re back?” Cheryl asks, her voice smaller. She’s tried very hard to be the best queen Spence has ever had, but the moment Veronica stepped back into town, everyone was always gravitating to her, like moths drawn to a flame.

“It is,” Veronica affirms, opening her purse. “I didn’t have time to do this before I left, but if I could go back,” she pulls out a velvet bag, “I would have chosen you, and given you this.”

Veronica unsnaps the bag and reveals an encrusted headband.

She remembers seeing the sacred piece for the first time as a freshman, sitting with Betty and watching it be passed on from Polly to Veronica. The structure of it is coated in gold, with regal designs scrawling up the sides. Blue spinels and aquamarines are scattered along the arch, catching the light so beautifully in her dimmed bedroom.

Cheryl admires it, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she weighs the significance of this moment.

Veronica’s manicured hands hold it up and offer it to her in peace, eyes shining with sincerity. “I, Veronica Lodge, choose _you_ , Cheryl Blossom, to reign over Spence and Stonewall in my place,” she repeats the somewhat silly vow, a little giggle in her voice. “Do you accept it?”

“Yes,” she says. Veronica slides the headband through her hair and brings a soft hand to her face.

Cheryl pulls her closer by the wrist. It catches Veronica by surprise and they end up falling on the bed, laughing. Cheryl kisses her, then, pressing their mouths together until they’re a little breathless.

“I don’t remember this being part of the coronation ritual,” Veronica says against her mouth, one of her thighs sliding between Cheryl’s.

“It should’ve been.”

* * *

_aw, isn’t that sweet? it’s all well when it ends well. the year's scarcely begun and already everyone is doing better. new relationships, new perspectives, new dreams. but remember, the new year isn't about what just happened; it’s about what’s to come. the secrets don’t disappear when the ball drops. they’re still here, just waiting to mess with everyone’s resolutions._

_and so are we. xoxo_

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🧐🧐🧐 is anyone ever safe in this fic? Jughead and Veronica think they don't necessarily need to tell Betty about their parents yet, all things considered... But is Cheryl really going to keep this to herself? What other secrets does she have on her sleeve, and will she use them, now that Veronica officially made her queen? Archie tried to move on and ended up meeting new people... Mmmm. The tag list is growing and we are very excited for the next juicy bits!
> 
> We are very happy to be back and to tell you guys that you need to find an escort, because next chapter comes with a very important event. Oh! We recorded a podcast talking about the fic the other day, you can find it in Vik's blog (@andsmile) on Tumblr. Love you and thank you for sticking with us! (especially the despaired Varchie shippers who are thinking if they should give up)
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
>   * MGMT - Kids (song at the beginning / ice hockey game)
>   * Alabama Shakes - Don't Wanna Fight (jughead and veronica at the blend)
>   * Sea Wolf - You're a Wolf (bughead making out 😏)
>   * The Plasticines - B.I.T.C.H (veronica x donna, cheryl x ginger)
>   * Nadia Oh - Got Your Number (veronica x cheryl at the steps)
>   * Josie & The Pussycats OST - You're a Star (the concert / also can we say this movie??? 10/10)
>   * Camila Cabello - Never Be The Same (cheryl x veronica at the end)
> 



	10. #hisociety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 🌟 This chapter came out faster (thank goodness) but mostly because we were SO excited to write it. We never enjoyed writing something so much, I swear. This has almost 17k 💀 but I hope you guys can power through because it's A RIDE.
> 
> We are SO HAPPY to announce that WDYHGM **won** the "Best Other Ships Fanfiction" category in the 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards. Thank you so much for everyone who voted. Writing this fic has been a blessing for our creative minds. BUT we have to warn you guys again — **all** of you guys — that this is a **multiships, multicharacters** fic and a journey. We hope you guys enjoy it 💋

**—i loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue—**

****

_wakey, wakey upper east siders! it’s that time of the year again, when the mere act of descending a staircase means you’re a presentable woman in high society. that’s right: it’s debutante season. and, from what we hear, the lineup this weekend is one for the ages._

_**spotted: #reggiemantle** carrying what looks like a page torn out of the romance 101 handbook. our king was walking up fifth avenue towards a certain luxury hotel. dare we ask, is **#veggie** back on again? in this economy? if you have any tea, at all, send it to the **@blueandgold**._

* * *

Veronica shifts in her sheets and pushes her silk eye mask up her forehead, checking the clock as a soft knock comes from the other side of her bedroom door.

“Come in,” she calls, her throat still scratchy from sleep.

She doesn’t expect Reggie to pop his head in, a large smile plastered on his face.

“Reginald,” she greets, giving him a sleepy smile. “Why are you spoiling me this early on a Monday?”

He saunters over to her bed with a steaming to-go cup and an elegant, small bouquet. After setting the wrapped flowers on her desk, he plops down on her bed and takes off his shoes as she slowly sits up.

“Because I need to pamper you enough so you won’t get upset when I outshine your debut, _date_ ,” he says, dimples on full display when he smiles down at her, lazily kicking his feet up on her expensive duvet. “I’m picking up my tux after practice and I’m gonna look dope.”

Veronica rolls her eyes but giggles, appreciatively taking a small sip of the coffee. “You think I don’t know that? Why else would I have agreed to you as a suitable escort to present me to society all those years ago?”

Reggie wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, a smirk on his full lips, and it cracks her up, as it usually does. He laughs with her.

“No, really. I need to know the color of your dress so I can get the matching tie.”

“It’s... Gold, I guess. I’ll send you a picture of the fabric.” She presses into Reggie’s side until he takes the hint and curls one arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. Veronica gets comfortable with her back half against his chest, drinking coffee in silence for a moment. “Can you believe Cotillion is here?”

“Yep,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head. She feels his body shake when he giggles. “Remember how _determined_ you were that I’d be your date? Literally the first thing you said to me.”

Veronica bites back her laughter. _Yes_ , she does remember. She also remembers what prompted that specific demand — breakfast at the Coopers when they were thirteen, and Alice going on and on about _Polly’s_ upcoming debut while her and Betty made faces to each other across the table. They went upstairs afterwards and started planning their own dance. Betty would wear white and Archie would escort her: it’d be practice for their wedding.

Veronica didn’t even _know_ Reggie yet. She’d seen him goofing around at Archie’s soccer practice and Betty said he was Archie’s new best friend, which was enough for her to walk up to him and _inform_ him that when the time came, he’d take her to Cotillion.

The boys around him laughed, Archie’s face turned the color of his hair, but Reggie just said _it’s a date_ with a smug look after sizing her up and down.

“A woman on a mission.” Veronica smiles wistfully at the memory.

“So… I assume daddy isn’t coming,” he tests.

Veronica looks up at him, taken off guard, and notices him nodding in the direction of the Cartier box on her nightstand.

“Ah,” she answers. “No, he’s not. He’s in China for the month but sent me a lovely tennis bracelet to wear.” She quips. The diamond piece is exquisite. She has mixed feelings about her father’s absence: the usual combination of sadness and relief.

“That’s quite the apology,” he notes. “I wish Archie got me diamond jewelry for standing me up.”

She snorts at that. “Is he really not going?”

“Nope. All he thinks about now is his Youtube Channel and I don’t know, buying flannel shirts in Brooklyn,” Reggie says, dramatically. Veronica sips more of her coffee. She’s seen blasts of Archie going to a guitar shop in the East Village with a stylish green-eyed girl, who she assumes is the girl he’s seeing. She must be from across the bridge, since the Blue and Gold didn’t know her name. “But you and I are going to have a great time. You’re a better wingman, anyway.”

Veronica feels a smile tugging at her lips, pulling her away from those contemplative thoughts about Archie’s dating life. “Absolutely, Mantle.”

Betty startles awake when her mother walks into her room without knocking and throws open the curtains, allowing the bright daylight to fill her room.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Alice’s cheerful tone is severe.

Betty groans, turning her face into the pillow. “Jesus, Mom.”

“Elizabeth, there’s a lot to do, and we’re not going to get anything ready for this weekend if you keep up this attitude.”

 _Attitude?_ Betty glances at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It’s not even seven in the morning yet. She scrambles upright and rubs the sleep away from her eyes.

“That’s more like it,” Alice goes on. “I am going to pick up your dress this afternoon. On Wednesday, there’s an opening in my schedule, so I was thinking we should stop by Bendel’s to choose your shoes. I’m thinking silver.”

“Mom.” Betty takes a deep breath as Alice trails off in her own meticulous planning. She’s _already_ tired. “I told you _yesterday_ , and Saturday, and every day for a month now… I’m not going to be presented.”

Her mother’s face remains emotionless, no blanching or visible hurt at her daughter’s words — as it always had when she refuses to entertain anything Betty is saying. “And I’ve told you for a month now: _yes_ , you are. For the past _ten years_ of your life you couldn’t _wait_ for this event, and now you feel the need to rebel against me only God knows why.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Betty shakes her head, picking at the edge of her pink quilt.

“I really _cannot._ A debutante ball is all a girl could ask for. It’s gorgeous, it’s formal—”

“I just don’t think this has anything to do with _me_ or with the kind of person I’d like to become… For society.” She argues.

“Elizabeth. I know your break up with Archie has been hard on you.” Betty opens her mouth to protest — it has _nothing_ to do with that, not anymore — but Alice lifts a hand to silence her. “And I have begrudgingly accepted your involvement with this kid from Brooklyn, but I won’t allow him to plant ideas in your brain. Cotillion isn’t some sort of antifeminist statement, it’s _tradition_. It’s walking into society with the right foot forward so that, when the time comes, you’re accepted for the woman you want to be.”

Betty thinks about the weight of her mother’s words for a moment. There’s a picture of her and Polly she can see on her desk and it reminds her of this event three years ago. Her sister was ecstatic about her debut. Her carefully chosen dress was hanging in her room for days while Polly brought boxes of shoes home to try on with it. Her eyes lit up while talking about the event and Betty couldn’t wait for it to be her turn.

“Now, I will pick up your dress today and I am _sure_ you will change your mind when you see how beautiful it is. We will shop for shoes on Wednesday. And I will email you a list of suitable escorts for your choosing.”

Betty runs a hand through her hair. “This is pointless.”

Alice walks around to the side of Betty’s bed, standing right above her now.

“I am chairing the committee, Elizabeth. Your sister was head deb. It’s part of _our_ family’s traditions.”

“I am not Polly, Mom.”

Her mother reaches for the lock of hair that Betty just pushed back and smiles tightly.

“I know you aren’t.” Alice opens the drawer to her nightstand where her medication is stored. “Don’t forget to take your lithium.”

Cheryl stands on the pedestal while her mother rounds the mirrors and inspects the handiwork of her seamstress.

“Oh, the pleating is quite intricate.” Penelope adjusts the minuscule reading glasses on the tip of her nose, peering over the bodice and growing fabric of the train looking for any defect.

Cheryl laughs internally at the desperate looks on all her team’s faces.

“As I was saying, Mumsy,” Cheryl interrupts. “I’ll be escorted by Marmaduke Mason, who’s an upstanding gentleman, and have already submitted my introduction to the committee for review.”

In reality, it’s a travesty that they still _require_ a male to escort anyone coming out to society as a presentable adult. Cotillion has evolved a great deal already — for starters, they could wear _some_ color instead of the traditional virginal white, and they could mention being queer in their presentation, but the debutantes were still required to be walked by men. There’s probably still a long way from anything else to be found socially acceptable.

But she still wishes she could take Veronica as her date. Escorting each other it would make so much more sense.

Penelope nods her head in approval, fussing at the chiffon over her ribs and pinching some of the fabric together. She’s barely listening. “This needs to be taken in…” she trails off while reaching for a pin.

Cheryl rarely gets this type of attention from her mother unless it’s playing dress up and acting as a doll for Penelope to model her creations. She wishes it didn’t make her crave it more.

The dress _is_ stunning though, the cornflower blue a perfect shade against her hair and skin. She’s debating on whether to pair it up with Spence's headband or not — the first Spence queens used to wear it in their debut, but that tradition was let go of in the early 00’s.

“And I arranged matching flowers to be delivered in time for the photographs. Mason will obviously wear a cornflower blue tuxedo but we were debating if the tie should be blue also or some other—”

“White.” Penelope stands erect, looking like _her mother_ with a measuring tape draped haphazardly over her shoulders. “Is this Mason boy taller than you are in heels?”

Cheryl sighs. Penelope has probably seen Moose a hundred times already. “Almost a full six inches. I made sure of it.”

“Very well.” She clicks her tongue. “That reminds me, your father and I would like to have a light supper here on Saturday before the ball. You may invite your date.”

Cheryl nods in the mirror, knowing it’s more of an expectation. “Of course,” Cheryl offers her mother a somewhat sincere smile in the reflection. “And after the ball?” She asks, hoping that no other obligations will keep her from the after-party she’s been planning to have with Veronica. “Anything?”

“No.” Penelope takes off her glasses and then smiles, taking a small step back. “Almost perfect.” She touches Cheryl’s chin, lifting it up a little. “This dress is definitely my second most beautiful creation. Don’t you think?” She asks the team.

Everyone seems to simultaneously agree and blow out a relieved, collective breath. Cheryl takes a look at herself in the mirror and smiles, proudly, even a little bashful.

The February wind nips at her neck, where Jughead tugged her scarf loose to bring her closer. Everywhere else feels warm, as she kisses him languidly in front of school.

He presses her a little harder against the brick wall. One sharp edge of the staircase behind her pokes into the nape of her neck. “Ouch. Brick. Not very comfortable.”

“You’re right.” Jughead steps back a little and smiles, switching their positions so his back is against the staircase. “I’ll take one for the team.”

Betty wraps her hands around his neck and leans into his body. She didn’t think either of them would be into PDA, but they’re not doing anything, just kissing. Her knitted mittens draw patterns on his jaw.

“You’d think that with the amount of money people spend at this school at least they’d have more comfortable walls,” Jughead jokes with his lips against hers.

Betty giggles. “Or a better calculus teacher. Mr. Prizer is weird.”

“Are you thinking about Mr. Prizer?” He kisses her again.

Betty sighs. As much as she wants to keep losing herself in this moment, thoughts of her impending problems keep coming back to her. Until this morning, she had no intention of attending at all. But her mother was just going to make her life a living hell for the next few years. And, to be fair, she kind of likes the idea of him in a tux as he fills the role of her escort. They may even have a fun time together.

But his article on the upcoming Cotillion was borderline condescending and would have come across as a mockery if she hadn’t intervened with some compromise and late-night rewrites.

“I’m actually thinking about… my mother,” she confesses, breaking the kiss _and_ the mood, as Jughead makes a face that gets her laughing. “She was pestering me again about the debutante ball all morning.”

“Will this ever end?” Jughead wraps his arms around her waist.

“I don’t think so. She— She’s a chairwoman of the committee this year and— whenever I try to reason with her, she starts talking about how Cotillion is nothing but a way to show off a woman's good graces.”

He quirks a dark eyebrow at her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your graces are doing pretty well.”

Betty bites back her smile and she’s quite aware that she’s blushing, but she takes a grounding breath. “Listen, I know you think that this kind of event isn’t—”

“Oh, c’mon, Betts. We both agree that this is antiquated and classist. Not to mention sexist, since people spend all this money to have their daughters dance in front of grown men for attention.”

“Yes. But at the same time, it _would_ make my life so much easier if I just… Went,” she confesses. “What’s the point of making a statement if my mom will guilt-trip me about it for the rest of my life? If I don’t go, I’ll be thirty at some Sunday brunch and she’ll remind me of that _one time_ I turned my back on society and broke her heart in a million pieces.”

“I guess it is better to have peace than to be right,” Jughead nods. “But what do _you_ want to do?”

“I guess I just want this to be over, so I think I’ll end up going.” She cups his face with her mitten-clad hands and a hopeful smile. “And… Maybe… Would _you_ like to be my escort, Jug?”

“Am _I_ your secret weapon against Alice Cooper?” Jughead raises both his eyebrows at her. She mimics his expression and her smile grows bigger. With a chuckle, and a slight eye-roll, he ends up nodding. “Please, don’t make me wear a bow-tie.”

After school on Wednesday, Veronica has an appointment at her mother’s longtime tailor on Madison. She and Cheryl grabbed lattes and had Andre drop them off just in time.

The Elie Saab gown she picked with Hermione over the holidays is as beautiful as she remembers. The champagne embroidered dress has been carefully covered in its garment bag, hanging in the guest room closet. Cheryl smiles approvingly at her in the mirror, sitting with a magazine on the high-back settee.

The seamstress works on the sweetheart bodice, clipping a pin and speaking quietly to herself and she moves with deft fingers. Veronica admires the gold details running down the train, watching them shimmer as the slit of the skirt is held above her thigh for her alterations.

“Don’t move or we’ll have to start all over again,” the woman says in a clipped tone.

Veronica raises an eyebrow in response and watches her leave towards the front of the shop.

Cheryl stands and stalks closer, gaze locked on hers in their reflection. She feels a shiver up her spine, knowing her bare back is exposed and held in place by two loose clips.

The redhead plants a soft kiss on her shoulder, running her eyes over the luxurious fabric. “You look perfect.”

Veronica smiles, trying not to move. She would be lying if she said she hasn’t been thinking about them. About _this_. Her relationship with Cheryl is actually evolving so well — it’s been a couple of months now and very exclusive, at least on her side. They haven’t talked about it, but she’s been giving it some thought lately. No one really knows about them yet but she can’t help but wonder what it’d be like if they decided to go public and really give this a shot.

There had been so many boys and girls in her life but she never really pursued a _real_ relationship with any of them. The closest thing she’s ever had from a boyfriend was Reggie — but that was still _different_. It’s weird to think that maybe her first steady someone might be one of her best friends.

“Thank you,” Veronica says, biting her lower lip. “I wish this whole thing wasn’t so outdated. We could’ve gone together.”

Cheryl smiles tenderly, which is something Veronica used to think was so rare, but now that they spend so much time together, she notices it’s really not. “It would make a lot more sense for me,” she smooths down Veronica’s wavy hair. “I’m hoping the after-party will make it worthwhile.”

Cheryl lifts a pointed brow and Veronica giggles. “Moose and Reggie can probably entertain themselves.”

“Is it true that you asked Reginald to be your date when you were still in middle school?”

“Yeah.” Veronica laughs at the memory for the fourth time only this week. “I didn’t even know him, but…” She bites the inner part of her mouth, wondering if she _can_ tell Cheryl some of those thoughts that she’s been keeping guarded for such a long time now. “I did it to get a reaction out of Archie. It was silly.”

“Oh.”

“I— Betty was going on and on about how Archie would be her perfect escort and—” She stops herself, warmth going up her cheeks. She’s somewhat embarrassed of admitting those past feelings. “I don’t know, I was a jealous kid. Archie was like the secret Prince Charming of my dreams, I guess. I _knew_ they would go together, obviously, but it still hurt to hear her talking about it so I decided to snatch his best friend.”

Veronica laughs but it’s mostly nerves and that usual pang of guilt that comes whenever she remembers how messy that all turned out.

“Mmm,” Cheryl purses her lips for the slightest second before placing one hand under Veronica’s chin and dragging her out of her thoughts when she turns her jaw to the side until their lips can touch. The kiss tastes like the cherry chapstick she always wears and it lingers for a second longer. “You do have a thing for redheads, clearly.”

“Apparently.” Veronica smiles and leans in to kiss her again, feeling relieved that there isn’t any judgement, and comfortable. It’s even a little scary, to feel like this.

Cheryl drops her hand at the sound of the tiny woman’s heels walking back to her station and Veronica laughs, catching Cheryl’s smile before she resumes her position with the magazine.

Veronica’s pleased with the open back when she turns to approve of the way it’s laying.

* * *

_**spotted: #jugheadjones** across the bridge, walking into what looks like a tux rental shop. does that mean **#bettycooper’** s invite didn’t get lost in the mail? come out, come out, wherever you are._

* * *

Betty practically skips up the last few steps to her house. As she opens the front door, her phone buzzes. There’s a selfie of Jughead in a dressing room mirror, wearing a black double-breasted tux. **_this is hideous._**

She can’t help but laugh, turning the knob and hurrying inside from the cold. Betty knows that Jughead is hating every minute of it, but she’s also glad that at least he’s willing to help. Hanging her bag and her coat on her labeled hook, Betty toes off her boots and heads to the kitchen.

Her father is sitting at the breakfast bar, hands wrapped around a cup of surely decaf coffee. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes when he looks at her, gaze trailing to where Alice sits on the couch.

Betty takes in the sight of her mom, head bowed over Polly’s Cotillion album. She hears a sniff. _Oh God_.

She looks at her father, who silently just shakes his head and takes out another mug. He fills it with hot water from the kettle and adds a fresh tea bag, sliding it across the counter so Betty can grab it and take it to Alice.

“Mom… Are you ok?” She approaches the couch carefully.

“No, Elizabeth. I’m not.” Alice shakes a few loose waves free from their bobby pins. “I miss your sister. I miss how our family used to be.” She looks up and then back at the album, tears on her face and Betty feels the rush of guilt.

Her eyes fall to the picture sitting open on its own page. Polly looks stunning, bright smile and looking like a lady of high society in her white dress. Alice and Hal stand to her left, dazzling smiles matching Polly’s and wearing somewhat coordinating colors. To Polly’s right, Betty’s young face is fixated upon her sister, looking at her in awe. She feels her own eyes prick with unshed tears as she speaks up.

“Mom… Polly is still with us. She didn’t die,” Betty kneels in front of her mom, holding out the steamy tea cup that Alice accepts with shaky hands. “She’s just… She’s just sick.” Betty swallows. Sick like _she_ is. The only difference is that Betty started taking the right meds way sooner. “And now she’s being taken care of.”

“I just wish she could be here to see your debut,” Alice wipes the tears away from her cheeks. It breaks Betty’s heart to see her mother crying like this. “But you’re not even going, so…”

 _Ok._ Maybe now it’s a good time to lay everything down. “I was going to make it a surprise.” Betty tries a smile. “But I’m going, mom. Jughead said he’ll escort me. Isn’t that nice? We can still go pick out the shoes at Bendel’s!”

Hal clears his throat and rather than turning back to find a happy expression on her mother’s face, there are more tears pooling in her eyes. She’s not sure if they’re tears of joy. “Mom?”

“Oh, darling.” She shakes her head. “Wasn’t this boy the one who wrote that article calling Cotillion a sexist political stunt for the power hungry attention seekers to fulfill their social climbing dreams?”

Betty makes a face. “He didn’t say exactly _that_.” She places her hands on her mother’s knees. “And, ok, he might be a little opinionated, but—”

“How can I be happy that you’re going to be presented by someone who doesn’t even understand what it all means for people in our position? In our _family’s_ position?” Another tear falls from Alice’s eye. She sniffs and leaves the untouched cup of tea at the side table, closing the album on her lap with a slight shake of her head. “There are a few shoes I’ve chosen, attached in the email I sent the other day. If you want to pick them up you can put them on my account,” she sounds defeated. “I have to lay down for a while.”

Betty is still kneeling on the living room carpet as she watches her mom retreat upstairs, her kitten heels echoing across the floors. She sighs deeply, reaching out for her phone in her pocket.

Betty opens her email app to check the shoes list sent by her mother — there’s also, obviously, the _possible suitors_ list. But before she can open either, she sees her dad approaching her with a soft smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s been a hard time for her, lately.”

“I thought that me going would be enough to make her happier,” Betty confesses, her shoulders down. Hal takes the place where Alice was seated, and pats the cushion next to him in a welcoming manner. “Why does it even matter if whoever's taking me doesn’t approve of it? I don’t really like it either,” she states, getting up only to plop down next to her father.

“I’m sure you want to be with your boyfriend for a special event like this, but… Just think about it. Is this really more important to _you_ than it is to your mother?” Hal wraps one comforting arm around her. Betty shakes her head. It definitely isn't.

Her phone vibrates in her hand one more time.

**_i really look like happy feet._ **

She closes the notification without finding it so funny this time.

Thursday, after school, the debs and their dates congregate at a nearby studio for their last ballroom dance class. It’s not like they’re amateurs — most of their classmates mastered etiquette, the ability to charm any audience and waltzing across parquet flooring by the time they entered high school.

Madame Lafevre claps for their attention and signals for her pianist to begin. She flips on the accompanying music in time.

Four couples stand in position and she rolls her eyes, being in the same row as Reggie and Veronica. They’re laughing at something that’s probably silly, both acting like _children_ , quite honestly.

Cheryl curtsies to Moose as he bows, a second behind the count. He lifts up his hand, palm facing her and she meets him there, preparing to walk.

As they complete their second lap, the music picks up and her eyes catch the couple at the end. She sees Reggie tugging Veronica swiftly by the arm, twirling her in and dipping her dramatically.

Reggie holds her there by the waist and Cheryl can hear her loud giggling.

How idiotic of him.

“Oh, no, no, dear. You’re not supposed to touch,” Madame Lafevre observes, lamenting on how the goal is to create a veiled intimacy atmosphere.

Moose’s phone rings. The music pauses — _again_ — while he searches for his phone in his pockets. “Oh. It’s my father, Mrs. Lafevre, do you mind if—”

“Be quick,” the instructor says, waving him off in annoyance. Cheryl rolls her eyes for the fifteenth time since this started, and steps aside to wait for her date to return.

The other couples resume the dance. She sees Ginger flowing through the room with Kevin Keller as her partner. Nancy and Tina are paired up with Chuck Clayton and Frankie Valdez from Dalton.

“Midge,” Cheryl calls the girl who’s also watching from the sidelines. She’s the only one in their group not debuting. The Klumps are what her mother calls _nouveau riche_ , the modern millionaires of their time. With her goal of being an event planner and opening up her own business, Midge busies herself every year to volunteer for all the big events. “Do we know who’s escorting Donna Sweett?”

Midge promptly takes one of the two phones she’s been using lately, scrolling down a list. “Donna… Mmm… It’s Bret Weston Wallis. They’re only scheduled for tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

 _Bret? How boring,_ Cheryl thinks with a sigh. There’s nothing she can do with _that_ and, to be frank, since Model UN Donna has been so _quiet_ that it’d be no fun to scheme against her.

“Who’s gonna take Betty?” She asks, noticing that her dear handmaiden is dancing with a random guy from the studio.

“Oh. It’s been a mess. Until three days ago she wasn’t even _going_ ,” Midge says, pointedly. “But now here she is. You know her mom is the chairwoman, so it couldn’t say _no escort_ … But she has no one listed yet.”

“Really?” Cheryl runs her tongue over her teeth. _Poor Betty._ An entire life thinking that she’d be taken to Cotillion by her childhood sweetheart only to have her dreams crushed by one Veronica Lodge, who confessed the other day to have _her_ sights on Archie ever since they were kids.

She can’t help but notice that her fellow redhead is missing.

“The Blue and Gold said it could be that new Brooklyn boyfriend of hers, but—”

“Wouldn’t that be tragic?” Cheryl cranes her neck nonchalantly, re-examining the room and looking for Archie Andrews. She realizes that she hasn’t seen him around at all. She wonders if he just missed this lesson, or if she just stopped paying a lot of attention to his existence, especially now that he’s all but fled from the Upper East Side and is now some _youtuber_ hanging out with other wannabes. Cheryl probably would’ve forgotten about him completely if it wasn’t for Veronica’s notifications popping up whenever he uploaded something new, or if she hadn’t told that tale about them. “Is _Archie_ taking someone?”

“Archie?” Midge frowns. “No. He hasn’t signed up at all.”

“Interesting,” Cheryl notes. Moose walks back into the salon, shaking his head apologetically. “Thanks for the info, Midge,” she says and moves along to keep on dancing.

Fifteen minutes later, they bow and curtsy a final time and Madame Lafevre applauds them. She watches Reggie plant a kiss on Veronica’s cheek then dramatically lands a second on her hand before leaving.

Veronica sits with Betty and they change their shoes. She throws Cheryl a look with big doll eyes, smirking just a little. They have plans to meet later.

Cheryl’s mind works fast, thinking about the universe’s mysterious ways. Just when Betty needs someone to rescue her from the embarrassment of walking alone — or _worse_ , with an outer borough escort — it so happens that her first love who definitely has a lot to make up for, is available. Not that _this_ particular relationship needed a revival, for God’s sake, but she supposes it would be quite poetic if Archie and Betty descended the stairs of society together after all, boy and girl next door.

And it would most definitely keep all of Veronica’s hopes and dreams about Hipster Prince Harry in the past.

Betty and Veronica walk down Lexington Avenue together, collective wisps of hair blowing against the cold breeze. They’re heading for some afternoon tea after rehearsal.

Veronica enjoyed herself at dance practice, always having a good time with Reggie. But she didn’t miss the vacant look on her best friend’s face every time she caught a glimpse of the blonde across the room. Betty is like a sister to her but, sometimes, and especially after her year away, she tries to be more delicate with her questions — it’s not always easy to find a way in to figure out what’s going on.

“So, I noticed Jughead Jones _the Third_ was not your partner back there.” Veronica keeps her eyes on her when the little joke falls flat. “I thought you asked him.”

Betty sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I did. But I didn’t ask him to come today… Alice Cooper happened.”

“Oh, dear.” Veronica heaves out a sigh. When Betty told her that she wouldn’t be going to Cotillion, about a month ago, Veronica thought she was kidding — they always talked about the ball. But, after a few conversations, she understood where Betty was coming from and how things like that seemed to have lost their meaning.

They both knew Alice wouldn’t go down without a fight, having always projected her dreams of Betty wearing a white crinoline-lined dress with gloves at sixteen, but Veronica never thought she’d actually win that one. Betty seemed so determined. She wonders what changed in the past week. “I mean, isn’t she happy that you’re going at least?”

“She is, I guess, but she doesn’t appreciate Jughead’s _views_ on the whole ordeal.”

Veronica nods her head. “You mean she doesn’t agree with his opinions of us girls being sold like cattle to the highest bidder while our parents stand by and watch?” She feigns surprise, reciting some of the words she read in The Register’s article leading up to Cotillion. “I’m shocked.”

Betty laughs briefly. “He doesn’t need to _like it_ to escort me, I guess. If I’m going to please my mom, I’d like to go with someone I want to be around, you know? And he said he would do it but he’s been complaining every step of the way and I’m wondering if I did the right thing even asking.”

“Is there any other option?”

“I haven’t even _thought_ of other options. As of Monday I wasn’t going. But of course she guilt tripped me. She even cried.”

“She _cried_? _Why_?”

“Because…” Betty’s breath is visible as she blows it out in slight frustration. “Because she said she misses Polly, who wouldn’t be able to come to the party, and that I already have the dress… You know my mom.”

Veronica inhales and reaches out for her hand. “Ok. We can fix this together. If Jughead isn’t the best thing for your mom _or_ himself… What about Archie, like you always talked about? Maybe that would be nice.”

“No. No.” The blonde shakes her head sharply, ponytail swinging. “Honestly, V. At this point, that wouldn’t make sense. For either of us.”

Veronica thinks on that, not sure about how it would feel. She always prepared to see Archie and Betty together when she came back from boarding school — she _wanted_ them to be. Things obviously changed a lot, but she still wants Betty to have a nice escort, someone who would be fun to hang out with and who would make her mom get off her case.

“And anyway, my mom _already_ suggested Archie, along with nine _other_ potential, well-bred escorts.” Betty laughs with only the slightest trace of humor. “She emailed me the list.”

“She would.” Veronica laughs too. “What other names are included in this list?”

She shoots her a pointed look. “The best option besides Archie was Bret Weston Wallis and I even considered it, until Midge told me he’s taking Donna Sweett.” Betty smiles a little sadly. “And I mean, Jughead _did_ say he’d take me. I just don’t want to force his hand into doing something he doesn’t want to so early in our relationship _and_ get my mom more upset all at once.”

Veronica rubs Betty’s back for support. She can’t help but feel slightly guilty about all of this. If she and Archie hadn’t… well, if they _hadn’t_ , Betty would still be going to the ball with him. Like they were supposed to. Just like Veronica herself is still going with Reggie.

_Wait._

“What about Reggie?” Veronica asks.

“What _about_ Reggie?” Betty looks confused.

“To escort you! He’s definitely better than anyone on that list, he’s so handsome that your mom would _have_ to approve, _and_ he’s a friend. I know he’d make sure you have a great time.”

“Except Reggie is _your_ date, V. You guys have been planning this since—“

Veronica waves her hand dismissively. “Trust me. Reggie is… Reggie. He won’t blink an eye. Besides, I’m sure I could find someone not on Alice’s list to parade me around Saturday night.”

“V…”

“If you’re good with Mr. Mantle taking you, consider it done. And you can set Jughead free of his unbearable duties.”

Betty bites back a small smile. “Are you sure?”

Veronica extends her pinky finger, silver ring sitting in place, and smiles back. “Promise.”

Betty hooks her finger with Veronica’s, their matching rings clinking as they walk into the cafe.

Cheryl walks into Bar Pleiades about ten minutes later than she told the girls. Other than a summoning to Thornhill, her minions are expected to wait for her. Never the opposite.

She removes her coat and adjusts the brooch on her blouse, approaching the two tables where the girls are gathered. Their chit chat ceases once Cheryl’s presence is announced by the sound of her heels.

“Girls.”

There’s a beat of silence and a shuffle of phones across the glossy black tabletops. They’re tucked away in a more private section of the bar, their sound muffled from the silver tufted walls.

“Hey Cheryl,” Midge greets, pulling out the head chair for her to sit. “We ordered some cocktails, do you want anything?”

“No. Alcohol is bloating,” she says, sitting down and sounding like Penelope Blossom. “We all have to fit into our gowns the day after tomorrow.”

They all exchange remorseful glances as if they’ve only now realized.

“Except for you I guess, Midge,” she adds.

“Maybe we should call the waitress and cancel,” Tina says.

“That’s irrelevant right now.” Cheryl huffs out a breath. “I asked to meet you here because one of us has an impending problem, and it needs to be solved,” she says, as if she doesn’t already have the entire plan laid out in her head. “It’s come to my attention that our dearest Betty Cooper is lacking an escort for Saturday, and—”

Ginger frowns. “Uh… Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” Cheryl snaps her head, impatiently waiting for her to speak.

“Betty is going with Reggie.”

_Since when?_

“Yeah,” Midge smiles. “It’s— I was just telling the girls, the email about the switch just came in.”

“But Reginald is taking Veronica.” They were dancing together like two insufferable children only two hours ago.

“ _Was_ taking Veronica,” Ginger corrects her. “She’s dateless now.”

There’s a small frenzy around the table while Cheryl’s mind starts turning, thinking of all the possibilities.

_“Veronica is dateless? Do you think she’s gonna walk alone?”_

_“I mean, good for her. Go girl!”_

_“RIP Veggie. They were my endgame.”_

_“OMG, do you know who’s dateless too? Archie.”_

_No._ Cheryl thinks, her brain basically short-circuiting. _No_ , this can’t be happening. _Betty_ was supposed to go with _Archie_ so any _ideas_ Veronica had about them could be long in the past where they belong. _No_ , she can’t allow that to happen.

_“Ar… OMG, Archie!”_

_“Could you imagine?”_

_“Don’t tease me.”_

“It can’t be Archie!” Cheryl says loudly, her voice weirdly high pitched. It halts their conversation instantly. Four heads turn to her and her heart starts racing. _What the hell_ , she really hates not being in control of this situation. What is she even going to say now that she has a legion of hormonal blood-thirsty demons looking at her? “It can’t be Archie because _I_ am going with Archie.”

“ _You’re_ going with Archie?” Ginger questions, her eyebrows knitting together. “What about Moose?”

“Moose…” _fuck,_ she forgot about this detail. Cheryl looks around and it’s like a bulb of light turns on in her head. “...is going with Midge!”

The girl with the pixie haircut seems utterly surprised. “With— with _me_?! But I’m not even—”

“ _He_ showed interest today after the rehearsal. And since you’ve been crushing on him since freshman year, I took the liberty of accepting it in your honor. You might not get another chance.”

_“Oh, my God, Midge! He’s into you!”_

_“He’s totally into you!”_

“I… Wow.” Midge, God bless her, seems ecstatic, her green eyes shining. “I mean, I guess I could sign up. I don’t have a dress but—”

“Perfect timing. My mother’s spring collection is currently spread out in our foyer. I’m sure we could find something that fits you so you can snatch your beloved Marmaduke.”

“But what about Veronica’s date?”

“That’s easy,” Ginger sighs. “We just need to ask the Blue and Gold for some help.”

* * *

_attention, upper east side. we’re calling all white knights: word on the street is that **#veronicalodge** is now in dire need of a young, strapping suitor for this week’s ball. now accepting applications from all eligible bachelors residing in the neighborhood. _

* * *

Betty reads over the blast on her phone for a second time. She can’t believe Veronica is actually doing this for her, especially since she and Reggie have had their arrangement for the debutante ball since forever.

She sits on her bed with her legs crossed and takes a deep breath, one of her hands curling up in a fist. She tries not to sink the nails into her palm — she just wants to feel them there. It’s become her fucked up form of comfort, reassuring as her other thumb hovers over his contact.

“Ok,” Betty says aloud and calls Jughead. As soon as she tells him, she can tell her mom, and then everything will be fine. “Juggie! Hi.”

“Betty Cooper,” he answers after a couple of rings. His voice makes her feel less nervous. “I was just about to call you.”

She smiles. “And why is that?”

“Doesn’t your family need to pay me a dowry or something?” he asks. She detects the familiar sarcasm in his voice. “Because Bret Weston Wallis has been spotted parading around with a _personal stylist_ to help him pick a cummerbund. I demand a personal stylist, Betts!”

Betty chortles. “Well, I have good news for you. You’re not getting the personal stylist, _but_ —”

“I’m getting the dowry? Wow, that _is_ some good news.” She knows he’s making light of the situation but it just makes her that much more relieved to have found a solution.

“No,” she laughs a little more. “Listen, I managed to get you out of this.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone before he speaks up. “Really? So we’re not going?”

“I mean, _I’m_ still going, but my mom has been on my case and I told Veronica you really didn’t want to go, so she helped. And now Reggie is going to take me.” She rushes out the words, feeling the weight lifting from her shoulders.

“Oh.”

Betty is unsure how to interpret the one-syllable response.

“I know. Now I just need to get through this weekend and everything will be back to normal.” She heaves out a long sigh. “Thank you so much for pretending to endure this for me, Juggie, I know you’re completely against it, so it means a lot that you tried.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. No problem.” He sounds normal and Betty is reassured. She was a little scared he wouldn’t take the news well, especially about having replaced him as her date, but Jughead is so nice. She finally opens her hand and inhales. “I’m sure you’ll end up having fun. I wouldn’t be able to learn the fork placement in time anyway.”

She giggles. “I’m hoping you’ll still stop by?” she asks. “I’m going to be in need of a greasy slice after the whole thing.” There’s an image in her head of them walking into that little pizza spot all dressed up when the ball ends.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know.”

“Bye, Juggie,”’ she says before they hang up. Ok. _Step one complete_. Now, she just needs to tell her mom about the new plan before she can carry on with the preparations.

The picture frame with her and Polly catches her eye. Now that she is most definitely going to be presented and that there won’t be any fighting with her mom, she wishes her sister could be here. How long would she still take to heal? She feels her heart constrict. She wishes they could at least speak on the phone.

A notification pings on her lockscreen. Betty shakes off the wistful thoughts and opens it to see a new text, from one Reggie Mantle.

**_u didn’t have to be shy and use v to get a date with me, coop._ **

She laughs, rolling her eyes. **_oh, no. you found out about my long con._**

Reggie doesn’t take long to reply. **_i am not surprised._** And then, before she can even think of some witty response, **_what should i wear? already @ the tailor and stopping by barneys after, send me a swatch._**

Betty lets out a relaxed breath. She’s going to have a good time with Reggie, make her mom happy, and get pizza with Jug afterwards. This is going to work out just fine.

Veronica returns to the hotel after school, stopping in her tracks when the doorman gives her an amused look. “Miss Lodge,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” She replies, looking around the pristine welcome area now resembling the conservatory’s botanical garden. “What’s all this?”

The man shakes his head with a laugh and gestures to the concierge at her desk. “Ms. Guzman here will have everything loaded on a bellhop and brought up to your suite.”

Veronica looks around and laughs too, realizing all these arrangements are for _her._ It makes sense, especially after an offer came through over lunch when a freshman girl said she had a royal cousin if Veronica was still looking for a date.

Just then, Elio Grande breezes through the lobby and meets her eyes. “Afternoon, lovely.” He’s smirking at the overflow of flowers. “I see your admirers became more persistent throughout the day. What’s going on?”

She laughs with him.

“I needed to help a friend in need and now I have no date for Cotillion,” she tells him. “The Blue and Gold posted an ad.”

“Oh. That does explain the extravaganza.”

Veronica reaches out to see a card nestled in one of the bouquets. “I have no idea who these people are.”

“When is it again?”

“Tomorrow,” Veronica sighs. Setting Betty up with Reggie had been something she did impulsively, though happily. If word spread that she, the head deb, was dateless twenty-four hours prior to Cotillion, she’d never hear the end of it from either of her parents.

“I’d say this is your lucky day. I have a clear schedule tomorrow and I happen to _love_ Cotillion. What color is your dress?” He quirks a brow at her, something she does also.

“It’s champagne and gold.”

His smile is smug. “Good thing I have the perfect tux, too.”

She looks at him. Elio looks better than a _lot_ of people and they’d surely have a blast together. Her parents would be pleased. There was a time when she thought the Lodges and the Grandes were planning on marrying them. “You’d really do this?”

“Are you kidding? A date with _the_ Veronica Lodge,” he nods at all the flowers, “is apparently what every guy in town wants.”

When Cheryl walks into the locker room, it smells like generic body spray and she hates it. She waited outside for most of the guys to leave but some took way too long — two in particular who she needed to see. And the clock is ticking.

“Everyone, _out!_ ” She commands as she bursts through the door, resting her hands in an authoritative manner against her hips.

The semi-naked players look at her and at each other, completely puzzled for a moment. “Do I have to say it again? _Shoo!_ ”

They quickly gather towels and t-shirts to start heading out the door. Sitting on the wooden bench and tying up his sneakers, Archie Andrews frowns like a lost puppy with what’s going on or what he should do next — especially, Cheryl supposes, because she’s looking straight down at _him_.

To be clear with her intentions, she points. “You stay.”

“Me? Do you need something?” Archie asks slowly.

“As a matter of fact, _yes._ ” She smooths down her skirt and sits next to him. There’s some water running in the showers, Cheryl doesn’t worry about being overheard and plans to keep this discreet. “I need you to be my date to Cotillion.”

“Wh—”

“I know it’s last minute. But I need you to do this for me, Archie.” Cheryl takes a deep breath, channeling a deep sadness. She knows Archie well enough to aim directly at his biggest weakness: how _good_ he is. “My heart is broken. Moose bailed on me yesterday because he has a crush on one of my minions and decided to escort her instead.”

“Cheryl…” He looks at her the way she’d expect him too: a little hesitant, but not immune. “I’m sorry, but I’m not… I don’t know. It makes no sense, after Betty and I broke up I decided not to—”

“You don’t understand! My mom, Archie… She’s going to be devastated. She’s been working on my dress for an entire year now. She designed it herself,” Cheryl looks down and closes her eyes until she’s sure they’re pooling with tears. When she opens them again, about to cry, Archie looks like he’s going to panic. “She doesn’t pay much attention to me, but this seems to be— it _is_ her biggest dream to see me walking down those stairs in that dress.”

“Wait, wait. Don’t cry.” Archie tries to console her. “I understand, but… Don’t you have someone else who can take you? I don’t know, I think some of the guys wanted to go… Graham or John.”

“I don’t want Graham or John! I want you!” Cheryl screeches. His eyes are wide so she breathes, collecting herself. “Did you know that I was supposed to have a twin brother? My parents always say how they wanted _him_ to escort me to my debut but unfortunately my dear Jason never saw the light of day. Apparently I absorbed him in the womb. My mom believes this is why I like girls.” Cheryl wipes away the single tear trickling down her cheek. “But honestly, Archie. I look at you and I see _him_. I see what Jay Jay could have been. So handsome and kind.”

Archie — God bless him — looks at her with the most earnest expression, the corner of his lips tugging up in a soft smile. Poor gullible himbo.

“Will you take me, Archie? _Please_?”

He sighs. “Well, I…” He shakes his head, resigned. “I guess my mom would be happy if I went.”

“Oh! That’s wonderful! Thank you so much!” Cheryl is beyond relieved, pleased with her plan to make Archie commit before he does something stupid like check the Blue and Gold and see _who else_ is without a date. She did hope to snatch him before he ran all the way to the Five Seasons, bursting through Veronica's door like her own personal knight in shining armor and _ruining_ their plans for the foreseeable future. “I’ll make sure someone stops by your house with an appropriate tux and a tailor at your disposal for last minute alterations. My mom wants us to have a light supper at Thornhill around five, so everything should be ready by then.”

Archie raises his eyebrows, confusion spreading across his features. “O-ok.”

“Now, have you seen Moose? I need to talk to him about something.” Cheryl cranes her neck past Archie through the abandoned locker room.

“He’s… He’s in the shower, I guess,” Archie points to the general direction of the running water.

“Great. Thank you again, Archie. My hero!” She plants a kiss on his blushing cheek and gets up, leaving him behind with a red stain on his face and marches towards the showers.

Now, she’ll inform Moose of the change of plans.

Veronica orders two coffees while settling into her seat at The Mansion. Andre dropped her off on East 86th Street for an early morning breakfast with Kevin, as promised, before the full day of pampering and primping commences.

She picked the Upper East Side diner, wondering if Kevin had ever been and remembering how many times she’s frequented the hidden gem before. And even though it’s located in their neighborhood, Veronica’s never been spotted here by the Blue and Gold.

The perfect place for an off the radar outing.

Kevin rushes in with flushed cheeks and several apologies for his tardiness. She waves her hand and pushes his still-steaming coffee mug across their table.

She watches as he unwraps his scarf and gratefully sips the coffee. “Ginger saw my color scheme two weeks ago, claiming it was _just right,_ and now tells me it’s an entire shade off.”

Veronica giggles at the way he rolls his eyes, explaining how meticulous the planning and matching had been so this morning was a surprise.

He looks at her pointedly. “Why couldn’t you have put your date swap into action last month? Then we could have gone together. I still would have offered but my mom would kill me if I cancelled on Ginger now. We’ve _all_ had to endure it.”

“Well, as much as I would love to be on your arm, Kevin Keller, it just so happens that lady luck was in my favor and as of last night. I’m no longer dateless.”

His eyes widen in intrigue, sipping his cup at the right moment to make it seem ominous. “Do tell.”

“You remember Elio Grande, right? From the club? I bumped into him yesterday and he offered,” she says nonchalantly, looking over the menu as their waiter approaches. “Seems like I’ll have a Columbia student by my side.”

She places an order for eggs florentine and asks for a refill on her coffee. When there’s silence across the table, she looks up to find Kevin scrambling to review the pages. “I’ll take a western omelette, thank you.”

They place their menus at the edge of the table and Veronica notices a shift in their dynamic. She’s seen Kevin act despondent like this before, similar to the morning of his meeting with the recruit from West Point.

“Kev?” She asks gently. “Did something happen? Or are you just stressing over what hoops Ginger will have laid out today?”

A small smile tugs at his mouth, but instantly falls. “I need to tell you something.”

Veronica feels an anxious pit forming in her stomach. She nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve been seeing someone, as you’ve gathered, and…”

He takes a deep breath, prompting Veronica to reach out and lay a hand over his.

“It’s Elio. We have been seeing each other since… I guess it kind of started a little before the Kiss on the Lips party. He hit me up on an app, that day we met him at the hotel.”

In her mind, he trails off, leaving Veronica to comprehend his news. She couldn’t be happier that two of her greatest friends are together, she just had no idea that Elio was—

“Is he bi?” Veronica frowns. It’s weird. Elio has been parading models around ever since they’ve started their dating life.

Kevin shakes his head. “He’s not out, V.” Oh. So, the women are just for show. “His parents are conservative and… _No one_ can know. It could get messy for him.”

She holds up a hand in solitude. “I understand, discretion. Your secret is safe with me, Kev. But for the record, I am in full support. And, oh my God, _nice choice._ ”

“It’s… It’s complicated. I mean, after we spent New Year’s in Vail together, I think it’s getting kind of serious,” he says. Veronica remembers how he tried to tell her that a few weeks ago. For a moment there, she even thought he was having some affair with _Reggie_. “But I don’t know, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep hiding. I really do like him, though. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone but it’s _you_ and I just needed to let it out.“

“I’m glad you told me.” Veronica understands it better than he imagines. She’s never had any problems regarding her sexuality, but she knows that not everyone has the same luck — Cheryl herself had a rough time with her parents at home. “And don’t worry, Kev, I’ll be a perfect lady and keep my hands to myself tonight. In fact,” Veronica breathes in, “I’m seeing someone too and it’s also complicated...”

Reggie texts her right on time. **_just turned onto ur block, be there in a min._**

Betty slips her phone into the little beaded bag her mother bought to go with her dress. She uncaps her lip gloss and swipes on one last coat, waiting for the minute to pass. It feels longer than it should be.

She takes a look at the blonde curls hanging past her shoulders in the hall mirror. “You look like a princess, Betty.” Her father’s reflection meets hers and she feels like a little girl again, getting ready for a dance with Hal.

The doorbell rings and her father is on his feet instantly, a big smile on his face. Alice, as part of the committee, is already at the event — and probably making sure someone was yelling at the vendors.

She exchanges a glance with her dad, signaling that _she_ will answer the door.

Reggie stands on her porch, in the perfect tux and a single flower in his hand. His narrow eyes go up and down her figure the way they do sometimes.

“You clean up well, Coop.” He extends the flower and steps in a little closer.

Betty opens the door wider and ushers him inside. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mantle.”

They have just a second before her dad is in the foyer, camera in hand. He snaps a few shots. It’s nice to not have her mom there, hovering around them and directing their poses. It was a cringe-worthy performance when she’d put Archie through it last year at formal.

“Be good to my baby, Reggie,” Hal does say, though, and Betty feels her cheeks warming up when she realizes her father’s eyes are a little shinier than they should be.

“Of course, Mr. Cooper,” Reggie says like a gentleman while placing a hand on her low back. Betty wonders if her face is as red as it feels.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

The driver opens the back door of the limo for them. Reggie extends a hand, signaling her inside first. There’s a lot of fabric to deal with, so he gathers the train of her dress to help. They both laugh at that.

“Thank you,” she says when he gets into the car. The driver closes the door and Reggie reaches out for the fridge. There’s a bottle of champagne and two flutes. “You didn’t have to go all out,” she decides to joke, if only because this is all a little awkward. She hasn’t been with _only_ Reggie — without Archie or Veronica around, or not in a party full of people — in such a long time.

Truthfully, she can’t really remember if it has ever happened.

“Please, Reggie Mantle never does things halfway.” He wiggles his eyebrows, uncorking the champagne. Betty giggles. There is something about all of this that makes her feel a little shy. “Veronica told me your mom has been a _momzilla_ lately.”

She heaves out a breath, feeling a little bad about all the things that were affected in the process. “Yeah. You’re really helping with this. I’m sorry to disturb all of your plans.”

“That’s what friends are for, Coop.” He starts filling their glasses. Betty smiles appreciatively when he hands out hers. “So, tell me. How’s the newspaper going?”

Betty is a little taken aback with the question. That’s weird. She didn’t think Reggie had any interest — or _knowledge_ , to be honest — of what she does. He really is trying to make her feel comfortable. Maybe this is a little awkward for him too. “Well, the hockey team coverage is always the most praised.”

He laughs, raising his glass. Betty feels herself relax. This is going to be good. They’re going to have fun.

Veronica is having a great time with Elio. They enjoyed hors d’oeuvres and champagne on the way over and it’s nice to be escorted by an old friend. He also didn’t disappoint with his black tux, embroidered with gold stitching complete with a bow tie and cufflinks to match.

It’s the longest amount of time she’s spent with Elio in the last few years and the more minutes that pass, the more she can really see the potential between him and Kevin. She doesn’t mention knowing about them — Kevin was adamant that he wanted it to be a secret — but she catches them exchanging _a look_ and laughs to herself, wondering how she could’ve been so blind.

Veronica’s hair has grown significantly since her birthday so she opted for a side braid laid across her bare shoulder. She decided on minimal jewelry since her dress is heavily embellished in gold detailing, settling on her favorite diamond chip earrings and the bracelet sent by her father.

She’s fiddling with it in the parlor, waiting for Elio to return from a phone call, when she spots Cheryl entering the main hall. Her dress is _stunning_ , powder blue and this beautiful, intricate skirt, and her red hair is swept up in a sleek French twist.

The redhead catches her eye and looks around before walking over to her. Veronica pulls Cheryl into the little alcove. “Wow. Aren’t you a vision?”

Cheryl smiles. “Thank you. And so are you,” she looks down, reaching out to re-clasp the diamond bracelet on Veronica’s wrist. She lets her fingers graze on her skin for a moment. “I am looking forward to when this is over and we can celebrate together.”

Veronica holds Cheryl’s hand in hers. “I can’t wait,” Veronica steps closer and plants a soft kiss on Cheryl’s nude lips, careful not to smudge their make-up. As the sweet kiss lingers, she wonders if she should let Cheryl know that she told Kevin about them. That she might be ready to tell other people. That they could present their own debut.

Even with the complications and the potential drama that would encompass such a revelation, they _could_ do it. They could be a couple and be happy. It’s not like Elio and Kevin, who have to hide it while one of them isn’t ready.

She wonders what’s holding her back.

“Hey Cheryl, your mom is—” a familiar voice comes, making them pull apart. Veronica’s heart catches when she sees _another_ redhead, looking good in a navy tux complete with a bow tie to match Cheryl’s dress.

 _Archie._ There’s something familiar in his face, honey eyes wide but soft, his lips parting in surprise.

There’s a thundering in her chest when she looks back at Cheryl, their hands still together. Her big brown eyes shift between the two redheads.

Archie is the first one to collect himself. “Cheryl, your mom is calling you at the table,” he says. Veronica swallows the lump that formed in her throat.

“Of course she is,” Cheryl rolls her eyes a little. She lets go of Veronica’s hand with a squeeze but kisses her again. “I’ll see you out there, ma belle.”

She walks past Archie, leaving them alone. Veronica heaves out a breath and their eyes lock again.

He looks so handsome in his blue tux, even though she has no idea how or why he suddenly is matching _Cheryl_. She wonders about the green-eyed girl from Brooklyn, if that’s even still happening.

There’s a coy smile on his face when he takes one step closer, shoving his hands in his pockets. “When you told me you were seeing someone, I didn’t think it’d be my date.”

Veronica tilts her head to the side. “Well, _I_ didn’t think your date would be the person I’m seeing, so…”

Archie chuckles and it warms her from the inside.

“Yeah, apparently something came up with Moose and one of the girls…” He scratches the back of his head, trailing off in explanation. “So she came to me yesterday and I agreed to come. Plus, my mom is thrilled I’m not hiding from society, so it all worked out.”

Veronica looks him over. She didn’t know about any of this. She wonders why Cheryl didn’t bother to tell her. “A lot of last minute changes, I guess.”

“It’s nice to be here, though,” Archie says. Somehow, Veronica knows what he means. It’s far from how they once imagined it would be, but they’re all here regardless. The two of them, Betty, Reggie, and Cheryl. “I’m gonna find Cheryl and head in.”

“Yeah. I’m… Waiting on Elio. I’ll see you in there.”

“Ok.” He offers her a gentle smile that she gives back. “You look…” His eyes go briefly down her figure and up to her face again, “Very beautiful.”

He’s gone a second later, leaving her to bring a hand up to her stifling neck.

Betty laughs again when Reggie mentions that the debutante director’s dress actually resembles the drapes in Stonewall’s library. She didn’t drink a lot in the car, but his company and the champagne did take some of the edge off.

Her mom already had her and Reggie pose for a thousand traditional pictures when they arrived, complimented him — she was beyond thrilled that a _Mantle_ was escorting her daughter — and criticized _her_ as expected, suggesting she should have done an updo. Betty was thankful for Reggie in that moment, because their eyes locked and the corner of his lips quivered with suppressed laughter, helping her not take it so seriously.

Now, they’re lined up with the other debs and their dates to be introduced to all of society. The staircase is sweeping and the biggest fear is always that one girl will lose her footing from the obscene gown trains and plummet to the bottom, but Betty feels much more relaxed than some of the others anxiously fidgeting.

She looks around at her friends, seeing how gorgeous Veronica looks and not being able to help but laugh that Archie ended up here with _Cheryl_ , of all people. They look like twins with identical red hair and matching attire.

“Psst,” she hears somewhere behind her. “Hey _you.”_

She recognizes that voice and turns around, smile broadening at the sight of Jughead Jones.

“Juggie! Hi!” She squeals and throws her arms around his neck. His hands wrap around her back and she only has a moment to take in the three-piece black suit he’s wearing. She doesn’t even know how he got that. Her heart swells that he’s _here_. “Oh, my God, you came!”

“Of course I did, Betts. You mentioned pizza.” His hand holds hers lightly, discreetly. Her grin widens.

One of the assistants carrying an iPad approaches her. Jughead gives her a quick kiss and motions with his head that he’ll go back to the salon so he can watch, and she lets go of his hand to pay attention to the girl, stepping back into the line up.

“Miss Cooper, can you confirm how to pronounce this?”

She holds out the tablet and reads through the presentation trying to find what they need help reading. When she realizes that this _isn’t_ what she sent out to the committee the other day.

“What’s wrong?” she hears Reggie asking.

“I didn’t write this,” she says, all of the happiness that she just felt for seeing Jughead dissipating. “I think my mom did. I said I wanted to pursue journalism overseas and cover refugee camps, this isn’t—”

Archie, who’s standing by Reggie’s side, reaches out to take the iPad from Betty’s hand. “Elizabeth Cooper hopes to continue residing on the Upper East Side and follow in her mother’s footsteps by getting involved with the Daughters of the Revolution before settling down and having two wonderful children—”

“I don’t see what these dumbasses can’t pronounce,” Reggie takes the iPad from Archie’s hand and starts writing something down with the stylus.

Betty doesn’t even look at what he’s doing, her hands automatically closing in fists. She did _everything_ , she went out of _her way_ to make this happen for her mother. She compromised on her beliefs and her _date_.

She’s still internally seething when Reggie hands the tablet back to the girl and gets into line beside her. Cheryl is reviewing her own speech and Archie offers her a sympathetic glance. She tries to smile back at him and focuses on Reggie, who tosses an arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll be ok, Coop. Let’s get through the walk, without issue, and head right to the dance floor. Deal?”

She’s suddenly really grateful that Veronica made this happen. She nods her head. “Deal.”

The director tells them everything is about to start. Betty forces herself to open her hands as she takes her position in line.

_“Hello and welcome to the Annual Cotillion and Debutante Ball. We’ll start with our head debutante, Veronica Cecilia Lodge, daughter of Hiram and Hermione Lodge. Escorted by Elio Grande. Miss Lodge plans to attend Harvard’s graduating class of 2024. She intends to travel the world and dedicate her time to immigration charities.”_

_“Cheryl Marjorie Blossom. Daughter of Clifford and Penelope Blossom. Escorted by Archibald Andrews. Miss Blossom hopes to become a member of Yale’s class of 2024, and will continue her family’s legacy as supporters of the Lincoln Center.”_

_“And now I’d like to present Elizabeth Grace Cooper, Daughter of Harold and committee chair, Alice Cooper. Escorted by Reginald Mantle. Miss Cooper hopes to date as many billionaires as she can before settling down to_ —”

Betty starts laughing with everyone else, unable to help herself, covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders trembling. She can see Reggie’s subtle smirk. The revised version ceases her introduction as they descend the staircase with hushed whispers surrounding them.

The look on her mother’s frozen face is of utter shock and embarrassment.

Serves her well.

Following the Grand Entrance — and the cringe that was Betty’s presentation — they take their places on the dance floor just like they rehearsed with Madame Lafevre last week. Cheryl faces Archie and curtsies, as he bows back to her.

She has seen him escort Betty to a dozen events and knows he can dance, grateful he’s not making her life difficult when they begin. Archie holds her waist tentatively, but securely, as they make their first round through the choreographed movements.

The dance flows in perpetual motion as they glide, receiving nods of approval from their prestigious audience.

As they prepare for the next transition, Cheryl looks up to Archie who looks at her like he’s trying to figure something out. _Yes, I am with Veronica,_ she wants to answer his unsaid question.

Cheryl spots the raven-haired girl, currently being twirled by Elio two couples over. She curtsies to Archie once more, before coming face-to-face with her next partner.

Reggie smiles at her and she can’t help but roll her eyes. He moves a little more gracefully than Archie does and she ends up laughing when he mumbles something ridiculous under his breath. She watches Archie turn with Betty as Veronica smiles at Moose.

They swap partners again through the square and Cheryl curtsies to Elio Grande. He offers a devilish smirk back to her as he bows and her blood boils at how handsome he is up close. She doesn’t miss the gold detailing matching Veronica’s dress. He really did go all out, considering how little time he had for preparations.

“Archie Andrews? Interesting choice of date,” Elio notes as they move. Cheryl purses her lips. There is something that she can’t _stand_ about him ever since they started hanging out all those years ago, even though Veronica always seemed to adore him. “A little egocentric if you ask me.”

“Takes one to know one,” she answers, bothered. In the corner of her eye, she spots Archie smiling idiotically at _her_ girlfriend and it sours her mood instantly as she remembers Veronica’s confessions about dreaming of going with Archie to Cotillion back then. Everyone in their quad is moving around the steps effortlessly and her count is off while her gaze is narrowed.

“Don’t worry, Bombshell,” Elio starts and sounds amused, “your date is safe. That one is going home with _me_ tonight.”

Cheryl resists the urge to slap him for that comment, instead, digging her red talons a little deeper into his shoulder. “I’m not worried.” Cheryl’s eyes turn to slits, wanting to wipe off the disgustingly smug smile from his face _and_ the stupid lovesick gaze on Archie’s.

Veronica is hers now. They’ll be going steady soon enough and no one is going to come in their way — not that Ed Sheeran prospect _nor_ this closeted Lothario pretender.

“You sure look a little tense,” Elio turns her around one last time. “You’re welcome to join us for the afterparty.”

_Oh no, he didn’t._

His days of making Manhattan’s Top Bachelors lists are about to be over.

They rest between dances, accepting cold water and a few laughs while the crowd mingles. Veronica seeks out Betty when she can — she didn’t have any more than ten seconds to admire how pretty she looks before she was swept up as the first presented girl.

“Think your mom will murder you after the ball?” Veronica holds on to Betty’s hand.

“I don’t know. But the look on her face was worth it. I can’t believe I didn’t verify what Reggie had written, though.”

Veronica laughs. “Oh, Reggie. Never a dull moment with him.”

Betty giggles and shrugs her shoulders adorably, tilting her head. She opens her mouth to say something when Elio comes back with water glasses for them and champagne for him.

Veronica takes a breath and takes a moment to look around as she drinks her water. Archie is talking politely to Penelope Blossom, his hands behind his back. She presses her lips together in a thin line and starts surveying the crowd, looking for Cheryl.

She sees the exact moment _something_ happens. The familiar _buzzes_ and _pings_ surround her as everyone’s phones appear to receive the same, dreaded, notification.

Veronica’s phone is stowed away in her clutch at her designated table, so she peers over Betty’s phone to read through.

* * *

_good evening, lovely people. **@blueandgold**_ _here. sorry we’re late, but we couldn’t help but notice one beauty missing from tonight’s introductions to society. last but not least: we’d like to present **#eliogrande** , escorted by **#kevinkeller** , caught in the literal and metaphorical closet. the grandest debut yet, if you ask us. don’t believe it? there’s proof, all the way back to the kiss in the lips party. we love a gift that keeps on giving._

* * *

“Oh, my God,” someone whispers around her.

Veronica’s breath catches as she recognizes Kevin and Elio in a photo, holding on to each other’s lapels as they kiss in a closet of sorts — very similar to the one she was photographed talking to Archie in, a few months ago. There’s a wave of stares falling in their direction and Elio is already gone when she looks back to him.

Her stomach clenches. She spots Kevin, his gaze trailing Elio’s departure, before he sets his sights on her. Veronica takes a step in his direction.

“Kev—” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“How could you do this?” He hisses at her, eyes wide in disbelief.

Veronica’s eyes flit all over his face, trying to comprehend before realizing he thinks that _she_ is responsible for this. _How?_ He must know that she’d never, in a million years, send a blast to the Blue and Gold _outing_ someone. And this _picture_ , this is something she wouldn’t—

“Why would you do this?” His green eyes are unable to mask the hurt, brighter and brighter. “I’ve kept all of _your_ secrets, Veronica! The one time I trust you with something, you go and—”

“I didn’t! I _didn’t_ , Kevin,” she says, her heart beating fast. It’s the truth. She doesn’t know how to prove that she wasn’t the one who sent that blast, but she _has_ to. “I’m _not_ this person, I would never do anything to hurt you!”

She _wouldn’t_. She barely looked at the Blue and Gold anymore, let alone send tips to them. Besides, during the Kiss on the Lips party, _she_ was a target herself with the blast and accompanying picture Cheryl took.

Veronica takes a small step back with this realization.

_Cheryl._

Kevin shakes his head in disbelief. “You ruined everything.”

He looks at her one more time before turning towards the exit with a pinched expression. She feels her eyes filling with tears as she watches him walk away.

In the privacy of the powder room, satisfied as she sees the retweets and likes increase every time she reloads the app, Cheryl deletes all of the pictures of Kevin and Elio stored from the Kiss on the Lips party. When they’re all gone, and permanently erased, she gets to the last one from Archie and Veronica that’s still saved.

She takes great satisfaction in deleting that too, knowing that from now on, they’ll only exist in the past. _Hashtag varchie no more,_ she thinks, letting out a pleased sigh.

Cheryl sets her phone down on the granite and stares at the mirror. Her makeup is still flawless even with all the dancing, but touches it up in case there are more pictures to be taken.

She expects Veronica to be _a little_ annoyed with her if she does the math and realizes that _she_ possessed both the hard evidence and that knowledge. But she has a case ready — it’s not _fair_ that so many people suffer through the pain of coming out and getting shunned by their families like _she_ had, while others parade around with women as their covers, not only using but also deceiving them.

Elio Grande isn’t a nice guy. Pure and simple.

She does believe Veronica will understand once they talk about it. She might have even done the same, if she were in her shoes.

Prepared for the possible consequences, Cheryl steps out of the powder room, but she doesn’t get far — right outside the door is Betty’s hobo, talking to none other than _Alice Cooper_.

“And may I ask what are you even doing here, Mr. Jones? It’s invite-only,” Alice bites.

Jughead frowns, his expression something between confused and amused. “I guess it’s a good thing that Betty never took me off the list then,” he bites back. Cheryl watches as Alice narrows her eyes. “I’m just here to support, Mrs. Cooper,” he says, more politely, “because I know she’s only conforming to this stepford nightmare to please you.”

“For someone so self-assured, you really get everything wrong, don’t you? The past year has clearly been hard for Betty, so I have tried to be very patient and very understanding of my daughter’s need for this _rebellion_ that you seem to be the root of. But I don’t think you know her all that well.”

Cheryl practically holds her breath as she watches Alice’s eyes frost.

“Haven’t you wondered why she changed her mind so fast? That’s because she never intended it to be different. My daughter has dreamed about this her entire life, you just weren’t there to witness. All it took was a little push to have her putting on that dress and agreeing to be here.”

“So it was your _little push_ that forced her to change dates as well?” Jughead squares his shoulders and Cheryl is surprised to see him gain certainty over the argument with the Cooper matriarch.

But Alice just looks at him like a bug to be stepped on.

“Oh, no, _Jug_ _Head_. My Betty did that all by herself.” Cheryl lifts a hand to cover her mouth. _So she snatched Reggie on purpose? Scandalous, Betty Cooper_. “And she did that because deep down she knows that you don’t belong here. You’ll always be underdressed no matter what secondhand suit you rent. You’ll always question the difference between the _Côte D’Azur_ and the _French Riviera_ because you’ve never been there to know they’re the same thing. You’ll always use your dessert fork for the appetizer. As the time passes, you’ll understand that people never really _see you_ when they look at you, they just wonder if your _relationship_ is a result of Betty’s impulsive whims or if you’re just the lucky recipient of her charity work.”

Cheryl is on the cusp of a gasp as she waits for Jughead's witty answer, but it doesn’t come. He stays dead silent as Alice carries on.

“So why don’t you spare my daughter further embarrassment and… leave?”

He blows out an angry breath and shakes his head, turning around and stomping out of the dark hallway without a glance behind him. Alice follows with her head up.

Cheryl needs a second to recollect and file away this new secret to use at an appropriate moment.

About ten minutes after the blast interrupted the opening ceremony, Betty waits to see if they’ll resume the lineup or just continue through the party. Reggie told her he was going to check if everything was ok after Veronica stormed off after Kevin. Several of her friends have dispersed and the band plays to drown out the sudden silence.

 _Poor Elio_ , she thinks as she puts her phone back in her purse. She wonders who would’ve sent something so _personal_ to the Blue and Gold, tonight of all nights. The account had always been mischievous but _outing_ someone was just plain mean.

She wonders why _Elio_ of all people would be a target. Could the Blue and Gold runner — or _runners_ — have something against him and this was revenge? Or are they really that cruel?

Betty could never imagine doing something like that.

It’s what she’s thinking about when she spots Jughead’s back, noticeable by the fall of his black hair. She hasn’t really hung out with him yet — she didn’t want to upset her mother even _more_ — but it’s not lost on her that he, despite his judgments, made the effort to come, in a suit, and watch this night unfold.

He’s weirdly heading to the exit. Probably to get some air, she supposes. It must be a little claustrophobic to him, the tie and the stuffy environment.

“Jug!” She calls once she edges the grand hall, briskly moving into the lobby. There’s groups of people mingling with drinks and on their phones, some so obviously gossiping while trying to find out more.

Jughead looks back after her second attempt and she nearly barrels into him with the abruptness of his turn.

“Hey,” she breathes, laughing a little, while he reaches her shoulders to steady her. “What a mess, right? I don’t know if they’ll carry on.”

“Yeah,” Jughead says, taking his hands off her. He doesn’t smile, and that’s when Betty realizes something is wrong. “Listen, I gotta— I gotta go, Betty.”

“What?” She knits her eyebrows together. Jughead sounds, and _looks_ , very distressed. “Why?”

“I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

“Juggie.” Betty’s heart starts beating faster. She doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly so upset — he seemed happy to be there when they met before the first dance, not an hour ago. “I don’t— what’s going on?”

He looks at her from head to toe, almost as if his blue eyes were seeing something for the first time, but not in a good way. “Is it true that you’re the one who decided to change escorts?”

Betty takes a step back, her hands clamping into fists by her side. “Who told you this?”

“Is it true or not, Betty?”

She doesn’t know what to answer for a moment. She changed escorts because of her mother — _this_ is the truth — but, at the same time, the decision _was_ hers in the end.

Jughead runs a hand over his face at her silence.

“Jug, you— you didn’t want to come.” She tries to justify when she notices the frustration in his breath. “I thought… My mom was _impossible_ and you really wouldn’t stop complaining so I... I figured it’d be easier if we just got this over with.”

“So you just replaced me.”

“I didn’t _replace_ you, Jug! You know I’m just here with Reggie for… What’s going on? You knew I would be here with him! Why are you so upset?”

“Why am I upset? Betty, it’s Saturday night and I should be in Brooklyn seeing a movie at the Bijou with Jellybean or out with my friends who I haven’t hung out with since forever because I’m _here_ , wearing this suit that I can’t even afford in this _place_ where everybody thinks I’m not good enough to be your escort, and then I find out that _you_ also think that?”

“I don’t think th—”

“Oh no, but you figured this would be easier without me. You _chose_ to be here with someone else because you didn’t really want to walk down those stairs with me. Because deep down you think that an outsider from across the bridge isn’t fit for the perfect uptown girl.”

Her vision starts to blur at _perfect_. She hates that word. She curls her fingers to feel the pressure of her nails against the skin of her palms. Her breathing becomes more rapid, trying to understand what he’s saying.

“But you know what, you’re right. Your mom’s right. I’m the only one who’s wrong here, thinking this could be any different.”

Jughead doesn’t give her the chance to respond, staring only for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes resembling something closer to steel now. He turns with finality, ending the conversation and pushes through the revolving doors before disappearing into the night.

Her gaze is focused on the cantilever chandeliers while she absently drums her red nails atop the linen tablecloth. It seems like the drama has died down, somewhat. Her mind is working on a way to liven up the party or to keep the chaos suspended, just as long as the night isn’t a total dud.

Veronica catches her attention, looking absolutely ethereal in her gown, but her eyes are angry and Cheryl is no stranger to the wrath in which they hold. She takes a breath and prepares to unleash her pre-planned story. Maybe she could even tell her about Betty’s mom and Jughead, deviating her attention.

“Why did you do this, Cheryl?” Veronica’s voice is so low it feels like venom is spitting from her mouth.

“Why did I do _what_?” She keeps her tone level, bordering nonchalance.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re the one who took this picture,” Veronica shoves her phone into Cheryl’s face, “just like you took _my_ picture that night, and I know you’re the one who tipped off the Blue and Gold. Why would you expose Elio like this?” 

Cheryl tilts her chin up and squares her shoulder. Veronica can’t even imagine what a pig her date really was.

“I didn’t enjoy the way his misogynist ass was talking about _you_ tonight. If you had heard him saying that he was going to take you home and—”

“You were _jealous_ so you _outed_ him? My God, Cheryl. Why would you do something so hurtful to someone? You of all people should know how hard this is!” Her heart catches in her throat, seeing the genuine anger on Veronica’s face, looking so hurt as if it were _her_ Cheryl outed to everyone.

“ _Please,_ he’ll get over it.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “Just like everyone does.”

Veronica scoffs, shaking her head. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t hurt just _Elio_ , you hurt Kevin as well. _Kevin_ , who has been by _my_ side since the moment I came back, supporting me while you were out there trying to ruin my life.”

Cheryl really doesn’t get it. This kind of stuff happens all the time within their circles — Veronica should know better than anyone, secrets never stay hidden for long. “Ok. You’re upset. But if you think about it, I may have done them a favor.”

Veronica’s features twist at that. “Are you kidding? No, you didn’t. You don’t care about them. You never cared about anyone but yourself and I’m stupid to have forgotten this.”

She barely registers that people hovering nearby are picking up on the heated exchange from their table so she redirects the conversation, looking at Veronica pointedly.

“You are seriously overreacting right now, V. We should just—”

“No. I’m not going to be your next victim.” Veronica tucks her clutch under her arm and looks at Cheryl with a hardened glare. “You went too far, _again_. This thing between us… It’s over.”

Cheryl catches her wrist. “Veronica, wait, I didn’t mean—”

Veronica shakes free of her hold, before bolting across the dance floor and getting lost among the sea of people.

* * *

**_spotted: #cherylblossom_ ** _losing something no one knew she had to begin with — her heart._

* * *

Betty watches the empty space where Jughead stood for a moment longer, her vision now distorted by the tears welling in her eyes. The blood is thundering in her ears as her heart beats faster and faster, the broken skin along her palms screaming.

The pain is the only thing that grounds her. She focuses on it as she walks away from the lobby and back into the ballroom, while seeking shelter to get away from prying eyes.

She can hear the whispers around her and her eyes are probably bloodshot. The band is still playing but she can’t even hear what. She can’t be seen by her mother right now. She can’t be seen by Veronica.

She can’t be seen by _anyone_.

Betty doesn’t stop searching until she finds an empty sitting room, tucked along the deserted back hallway, decorated with Louis XIV sofas and gilded details. She opens her mouth once she’s alone, letting out a breath that she seemed to have been holding, but it’s not relief. It’s not. She can’t suck it back. Instead, a heavy sob consumes her.

Betty opens her hands. They’re all fucked up, blood smeared all over her palms, dirtying her French manicured nails.

_Perfect uptown girl._

She’s not. She’s not the perfect uptown girl. She’s nothing like that, _she hates that_.

Polly was the perfect one. Polly was the head deb and everything their mom wanted her to be. Polly was escorted by someone on _the list._

She’s not Polly. She’s _not._ She thought Jughead knew that, too. Archie never got it, but Jughead did. Jughead _had seen_ her.

Betty’s dress feels way too tight, too constricting. She clutches at the fabric around the torso, not caring that she’s staining the white chiffon with blood, but she can’t rip it off, she can’t get out of it. The dress doesn’t budge. It’s suffocating and hot, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

She feels her legs give out and plops down on a couch, sobbing uncontrollably for what feels like an eternity. Her shoulders are heaving. She can’t catch enough air and her chest hurts.

“Oh my God. _Coop!_ ”

Someone calls her and then she feels hands — on her shoulders, on her face. She tries to get away from them but she can’t breathe, she can’t fight it. “Are you hurt?! Betty, hey!”

Her response is a sound resembling a _wail_.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me. Reggie.” The hands are on her arms now, gripping her gently. Behind the curtain of tears in her eyes she can see his face — she recognizes him. “You have to breathe ok? You’re going to be ok, but you have to breathe.”

She struggles to suck in a breath.

“That’s good. That’s very good,” his voice is familiar and soothing, even a little excited. The second breath she tries to get in feels better, clearing some of the airways. “One more time. I know you can do it.”

The third and fourth times she actually manages to feel the oxygen in her lungs. She keeps on breathing as Reggie guides her with his hands on his shoulders. She doesn’t know how long it takes for the sobbing to subside, turning into a light tremble.

“You did it, see? I told you, you could do it.” He smiles. Almost laughing. Betty lets out a wet chuckle. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

She feels emotionally and physically drained, completely exhausted, as she leans her head forward, forehead against his collarbone. The familiar, fresh scent of Reggie’s cologne calms her as she keeps breathing. She feels him hold her too, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Let’s get you home, Coop.”

When Veronica is back in the ballroom after taking some deep breaths and frantically trying to reach Kevin with no success, she realizes Cheryl isn’t anywhere to be seen anymore.

It’s better this way. She doesn’t want to see her. Not tonight, at least.

Veronica sits at an abandoned table, feeling tired and small in the extravaganza of fabric that is her dress. She’s playing with the exquisite bracelet gifted by her father and reflects on how this evening that started so great, fell apart so fast.

She’s devastated for Elio. She prays this doesn’t cause him any trouble with his family, and that he and Kevin can work things out. Kevin himself said he thought they were getting serious — she wonders if they can survive this scandal or if she can do anything to fix it. Even if it wasn’t really her fault.

She still feels like she betrayed them _somehow_ , her proximity with Cheryl setting everything off. She’s mad and disappointed at the girl, but also at _herself_ , for believing for a minute that things had changed.

She vouched not to play these games anymore and it was naive to think that this resolution would be something Cheryl would respect. Maybe it’s a good thing, that this happened today. Maybe it’s good that she could walk away before it got way too hard to do it.

Looking around, she sees barely anyone she recognizes now and laughs at the fact _she_ hasn’t left — like everyone else who matters appears to have. Not even her mom is around anymore. There are only a few couples still wrapped up around each other on the dance floor, no one she cares about.

She should probably call Andre and arrange for him to pick her up soon.

“Ronnie?”

Her head snaps up at the nickname.

Archie is still here, bow tie gone at this point, standing at the edge of her table. It takes Veronica a second to _believe_ that he is _really_ standing before her with his eyebrows furrowed and that familiar confused, comforting smile on his face.

“Hi,” she says, biting her lower lip for a second. She feels a little bad, realizing now that his date probably bailed on him. “I’m sorry, Cheryl left. I think she did.”

“Yeah, I figured. I was trying to find Reggie and Betty, but…” Veronica realizes she hasn’t seen Betty for a while, making a mental note to call her tomorrow. It immediately makes her think back to Kevin. And Elio. _And Cheryl._ And her heart constricts again. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.” She can _feel_ how fake her smile is, forcing it so Archie doesn’t worry. But, of course, he raises his eyebrows. “Not really. I… I just…” Veronica shakes her head, not sure how to even begin telling him what’s happened. She knows she can count on him, _always_ , but it’s hard to find the words that can translate what she’s feeling in her tight chest.

“Cheryl and I broke up. But I don’t even know what it was before, I was just trying— I don’t know what I’m doing. Ever since I came back, it feels like I’m constantly trying and trying and I just can’t get anywhere, because it’s not enough.”

Archie moves around the table, eyes locked on hers and laced with _something_ that has her wanting to confess all of her secrets and confide in one of her oldest friends.

“Ronnie…”

“I've been trying so hard to be there for Betty, but it’s not enough. I’m trying to be a good friend to Kevin, but _clearly_ it’s not enough. I don’t know what kind of curse I have that everyone and everything I touch ends up getting _hurt._ I really thought I could do better but it doesn’t matter. In the end, no matter what I do, I’m still alone,” she fiddles with the diamonds on her bracelet. “I haven’t even done enough to have my father here.”

Archie is quick to move, crouching close to her side. He places one hand on top of hers and it feels warm, and familiar, as it curls around her fingers. “I’m still here.”

Veronica looks up from their hands held together, her gaze meeting his now at eye-level. He’s giving her that same smile he’s always given her, the one that starts soft and even a little sad but grows wider by the second.

She’s done a really good job holding back her tears but when their eyes meet in that mutual understanding, she can’t anymore. She sniffs and lets out a wet giggle, the tears falling at the same time. Archie chuckles too. “Yes, you are.”

 _This_ smile only shows a little glimpse of teeth, dimples evident on either side of his mouth. “C’mon. I think you owe me a dance.”

Veronica plucks a napkin to _dab, not wipe,_ her tears as Archie rises to stand.

“I _owe_ you?” She finds it in herself to tease, feeling a little less heavy with the simple laughter he evokes.

“Yeah. You broke up with my date and drove her away, it’s the least you can do now that I’m left to fend for myself.”

He extends a hand, like the gentleman he is, and silently asks again to dance.

There’s no explanation when she tries to figure out why she even deserves this, _Archie,_ looking like a redheaded Prince Charming, coming to her aid in this faux fairytale ending.

Veronica’s heart skitters as she decides to stand, allowing herself to forget about _all_ of it until later — and just enjoy this moment.

She puts her hand in his and they walk to the dance floor. She can’t help but giggle, smiling like an idiot at the way he walks confidently through the throngs of bystanders.

The traditional waltzes are long over, as is the practiced stance they require. It’s still a surprise when his hand curls around her waist, naturally leading her into a non-formal position. Veronica settles a hand on his shoulder, unintentionally dragging it lower onto his navy, satin lapels.

Archie has a smile curling up in his lips, a little boyish, that’s making her _blush_ and it’s ridiculous. She hopes he doesn’t notice it with the dim lights overhead. He suddenly spins her around, twirls her under his arm, and she can’t help but laugh.

He’s laughing too when she curls back into his embrace, dress billowing behind her. But this time their laughing fades as soon as he pulls her closer, and Veronica tilts her head, resting her cheekbone on his chest. She breathes in and allows his scent to fill her with peace and hope.

Veronica can’t really believe that, after secretly dreaming about it for so long, she’s dancing with Archie Andrews at her debutante ball.

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before everyone goes crazy, we would like you to do the following exercise with us and think about the ending montage of this chapter that the CW didn't film for us:
> 
> **Apologize by One Republic/Timbaland starts playing. 🎶** _We cut from Archie and Veronica dancing slowly 💖, to Cheryl coming back home and hugging Penelope unexpectedly as she starts crying 💔. In the back of the limo, a concerned Reggie notices the blood in Betty's dressed as she lies on his shoulder, exhausted 😔. Across the bridge, one Jughead Jones throws pebbles in the Hudson, wind on his face, overlooking the Manhattan island, wondering if he'll ever belong 🥺️. What will happen to these six souls? Where are they going from here? Things never stay the same for long in the Upper East Side, right?_
> 
> We're gonna leave you guys with the soundtrack and the promise of many more twists to come!
> 
>   * Whistle for the Choir - The Fratellis (first bughead scene)
>   * Hit Me Up - Gia Farrell (cheryl's shenanigans, the star of the chapter lol)
>   * Kiss Me Again - Jessica Lea Mayfield (cheronica's cute moment)
>   * The Air We Breathe - Figurine (mr. mantle picks betty up)
>   * The Four Seasons, Violin Concerto in F Minor - Vivaldi, Joshua Bell (grand entrance)
>   * La Valse Champagne - Patrick Doyle (dancing scenes)
>   * Runaway - Yeah Yeah Yeahs (bughead fight 😭, betty has a panic attack, reggie finds her // honestly yeahyeahyeahs is *the* betty soundtrack in this fic)
>   * Three Wishes - The Pierces (archie and veronica dance)
>   * Apologize - One Republic and Timbaland (song of the chapter, 'ending montage')
> 



	11. #zerotosixty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies! ✨ This chapter took us literal 84 years to write, oh my. But we were very excited to write it too. Things definitely took a turn in the last chapter and they continue to unravel in here.
> 
> We're diving a little bit into something darker, so check the trigger warnings on the taglist, ok?
> 
> Thank you SO much for everyone who's following this journey, even if your ship hasn't been or isn't in a good place right now. This is a **multiships, multicharacters** fic but we would like to say we appreciate your guys enthusiasm with the journey so much. Nothing is over until it is, just saying. Without further ado, hope you guys enjoy! 💋

**— makes me feel like a madman on the run —**

_good morning, faves. hungover much? grab some espresso or a bloody mary, we have a feeling it’s going to be a long ride._

_on the upper east side, it’s easy to think the world is exactly as it appears: refined. elegant. imposing. but sometimes, all it takes is a little push to open the door to a completely new side._

_things look different in the light of day, wouldn’t you say?_

* * *

Betty rolls over onto fitted sheets that are definitely not hers. Her head hurts, especially near the back, as if she hit it somewhere. The feel of a jersey t-shirt rubs at her skin as she sits up way too fast.

“Shit.” She huffs with a dry mouth, diving over the side of the bed impulsively when she spots her purse, without even checking her surroundings.

Her phone appears to be dead. _Dammit._

“Calm down, Coop,” comes a voice and it makes her feel instantly calmer. It’s Reggie. “Your mom knows you’re here.”

She looks around and realizes that _here_ is Ollie’s flat — well, _Reggie’s_ flat — and that he’s behind his kitchen counter, with a black t-shirt on that resembles the one she’s wearing herself. She can see that there are pillows and rumpled sheets on the couch, where _he_ probably slept.

Everything’s fine. She’s safe.

Betty sits back down on the bed, pulling the covers over her thighs, and runs a hand through her long-fallen curls. “You called my mom?” She asks in disbelief.

Thoughts of last night come back to her and she feels the shame start to stain her cheeks.

“Yeah. I figured it was better to tell her everyone crashed at my place,” he says, chopping something on the cutting board she can’t see from her point of view. Then he looks up, giving her a smug smile. “I can be quite charming with mothers, you know.”

She chuckles, despite her growing embarrassment.

“Reggie… Thank you.” Betty bites back a smile, grateful for him once again coming to her in a time of need. “For everything, really.”

He smiles back. “Don’t mention it, Coop. _I_ am making you _pa jun_. My grandma always said there’s nothing it can’t fix.”

Betty presses her lips together. She’s so glad she didn’t wake up in _her_ house with her mother pestering her about being _hungover_ or whatever she _wasn’t_ , and that they don’t have to sit down and talk about the presentation or anything else, but she really _shouldn’t_ stay. “I’m not sure if I can stay for breakfast, my mom—”

“—already knows that we’re _all_ having brunch anyway, so you have to stay. I have a charger there,” he nods towards the nightstand.

Betty sighs. She’s not sure if she’s deserving of all this help.

“Thank you, Reg.”

Betty plugs her phone in on the bedside table, making her way into the bathroom to freshen up. Her dress is hanging in a big plastic garment bag. It’s strange. She hasn’t _forgotten_ last night — she vaguely remembers the fight with Jughead, crying in the sitting room when Reggie found her, and then lying on his shoulder in the car. She took off her dress, slipped on a t-shirt, and fell asleep almost immediately, the exhaustion seeping into her bones. But it’s like none of it happened to _her_. It’s like she saw everything happening to someone else.

It’s a weird sensation.

Betty opens her hands. The cuts on her palms are deep but not bleeding, scabs already hardening. She wonders, ashamed, if Reggie saw them. Turning the faucet to rinse her hands, she really hopes he didn’t. As much as she trusts him, she doesn’t want to have this kind of conversation with him.

If he didn’t see them, she’ll just say a glass broke or something to explain the blood on her dress. That seems like a logical excuse.

The food Reggie is cooking smells incredible and she realizes how hungry she is, not having eaten much since yesterday’s breakfast. She keeps tugging the hem of the t-shirt down when she emerges from the bathroom, trying to cover more of her thighs.

“There are shorts in the bottom drawer if you don’t want to change back into your gown,” he jokes from the kitchen.

Betty rolls her eyes and bends down at the dresser, pulling out a pair of Stonewall gym shorts. She ties them tighter around her waist and pays a little attention to her charging phone. There are a few texts from Alice that she _will_ ignore and doesn’t even open, one from Veronica that she’ll respond to later — just wishing her a good morning — and, like she feared, nothing from Jughead.

“Breakfast is served,” Reggie announces, catching her attention. She bites her lip and sets her phone down. She can eat first. Reggie whirls around with a dishcloth slung over his shoulder and a steaming plate in his hand. The meal looks delicious and her stomach growls this time. He sets down a pitcher of orange juice which she happily accepts, pouring some in the glass at her spot.

Reggie turns back to the stove, handling the pans before serving himself and sitting across from her at the table.

“Did I thank you already?” Betty asks, carefully cutting her _pa jun_ , while keeping her palms hidden.

“Mmm, not in Korean,” he jokes, making her laugh a little. They eat in silence for a while. The pancake tastes great and it immediately makes her feel less tired. “So…” he inevitably starts after she’s downed half her plate. Betty sits up straighter, knowing what’s to come. “About last night.”

“Yeah,” she feels her cheeks burn, “I don’t know what happened. I…” She searches for the words but it’s hard to explain. Maybe the half-truth is the way to go. “I had a fight with Jughead and I just started panicking. I’m not entirely sure.”

He looks concerned as he takes a sip of his orange juice. “Has it happened before?”

Betty heaves out a long breath. “Yeah. It’s not often,” she can only think of a few times, to be honest. When she found out Polly was actually sick. When Veronica came back, although it wasn’t _as_ bad. When Archie told her the truth about them. And… now. It had been a few months already. She’s been taking her meds. She doesn’t understand and it’s scary. “I’m so sorry that Cotillion ended up being such a mess.”

“It wasn’t all that bad. At least we had a great time dancing, like always.” He says with a small smile that she tries to give back, eating another piece. She can feel Reggie’s eyes on her face as she chews. “What ever happened with Brooklyn, anyway?

Betty breathes out again. She can’t even start to explain what made Jughead go from zero to a hundred and say all those things about them being from different words and how they would never fit. Or _how_ he came to the conclusion that she was indeed guilty for the escort swapping. It’s tiring to even think about right now and her headache returns. “I don’t know exactly. I guess we’ll see.”

“Listen Coop, I don’t want… To pry, or anything, but a few years ago…” Reggie takes the last bite of his food, pausing to chew it. “When Ollie was applying to Princeton, he had trouble sleeping, so he started taking these pills. Then he’d get these anxiety attacks out of nowhere, kinda like the one you had yesterday, and the doctor found out the pills were actually inducing them. Are you… I don’t know, are you taking anything? For stress or—”

Betty’s mind immediately travels to the bottle of lithium in her nightstand. In fact, she should’ve taken it already today, but she didn’t really plan to spend the night out. She forces herself not to close her hands on her lap — the cuts are way too fresh and she could start bleeding in front of Reggie. “I… I had a quiz this week and I took Adderall to stay up and study,” she lies. It’s something that she used to do, though, before the lithium and her sister's diagnosis. “Maybe that was it.”

“Could be.” Reggie’s mouth twitches, considering her answer. “It’s gonna be ok, though. You know that, right?”

She knows it’s easy for Reggie to say that, since he doesn’t know half of the real story, but she appreciates it anyway, from the way he helped her breathe yesterday to how he’s trying to reassure her now. She shrugs and gives him a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He points a fork at her. “In Korean!”

Archie strums his guitar, pausing to write down notes and some lyrics that are flooding his mind. He could barely sleep thinking about them.

 _“The sky glows… I see it shining with my eyes closed,”_ he sings softly, pleased with the way this is turning out. He’s been learning a lot about songwriting from Val lately — she’s patient and ultimately a really good teacher. _“I hear your warnings but we both know, I’m gonna look at it again…”_

He stretches the last word, his voice going a little off key. It makes him stop and laugh a little, shaking his head. He clears his throat to start again.

“I’ve missed your early morning sessions,” Archie lifts his head to see his mother standing in his doorway, wearing a silk robe and holding out a coffee cup. He feels his cheeks warm up, setting the guitar down. Mary has been making some effort in appreciating his music more, and he’s grateful for that. “I saw the pictures on Page Six. You looked very sharp. I’m glad you ended up going.”

Archie chuckles, he’s actually glad too. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Did you and Cheryl have a good time?”

Archie bites his lip. Apart from all the drama that always seems to follow his group of friends, he did have a good time. In fact, he ended up having a _great_ time.

After things settled down, he’d made an effort to look for Cheryl and see if she needed a ride home.

He didn’t want to think it meant something that he stumbled upon Veronica instead, sitting by herself in her pretty dress, but maybe it did. He hated how sad she looked and all the nonsense she was babbling about not being enough when she was like the sun, glowing in that golden dress, the pull of her so undeniable that he could only _stay_.

“I didn’t even hear you come in last night,” Mary admits.

“Yeah, I ended up staying a little longer than intended.” Archie scratches the back of his head, not sure _why_ he’s blushing. Nothing happened between him and Ronnie except for a few dances and stolen smiles.

He walked her to where Andre was waiting at the curb. She was smiling in that special away that would probably always make his heart flip, so he bowed like a gentleman to place a lone kiss on the back of her hand. It made her laugh, and maybe he imagined the glint in her eyes, but it felt like a surreal high. He closed her door and bid Andre a good night, heart racing the whole way home.

“Anything you want to share with your very cool and modern mother?” Mary asks, pointedly. Archie laughs, running a hand over his hot face and shaking his head. _Why is he so embarrassed?_ This is ridiculous. “I’m joking. Keep up with the song writing, it sounded good.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he repeats, picking his guitar back up to settle on his lap.

“But for what it’s worth,” Mary comes back before she even leaves, “maybe you should send whoever they are a text.”

Archie nods slowly. His mother gives him a smile and disappears from view. He takes a long, deep breath, and glances at his phone. As much as he _wants_ to text Veronica, he’s not sure that he _should_. It was amazing to be around her but she had _just_ broken up with _Cheryl_ , and she looked really sad about it. Who knows if they’re not back together already? He’d rather bask in this weird afterglow for a little longer than pushing it further and ruining it.

Because when you get too close to the sun you always get burned.

Monday morning comes nearly too fast. Veronica and Hermione sip their coffee at the breakfast table, her mom reading the newspaper covering the weekend’s events, while Veronica checks the news feed on her phone.

“Have you talked to Betty since the ball?” Hermione asks, setting the paper down into a fold and patting her mouth with the napkin. “Seems like Alice Cooper managed to use her connections with The Post.” Hermione shows Veronica the highlights from _Page Six_ of the Sunday paper, that included the rundown of Saturday’s Cotillion, along with an edited intro for Betty.

“Or bribed them,” Veronica notes, making Hermione nod in agreement. That was a fast reprint. She hasn’t heard from Betty besides a quick _i’m ok! have a nice sunday!_ text yesterday, but she’s sure that Alice Cooper did not just let this go. “I’ll see Betty today. I’m honestly more worried about Elio.” Veronica takes off her reading glasses.

Hermione sighs. “I’m going to reach out to Amelia Grande this week, try to set up a time for lunch. I can’t imagine what’s happening in their family. Poor Elio.”

 _Poor Elio_ is right. Veronica hasn’t reached out to him yet, but her heart is heavy with guilt — she may not have outed her friends to all of society but they wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for her. If it wasn’t for Cheryl’s vindictive ways. The incessant texting since waking up on Sunday just made Veronica even angrier with the entire situation — _how come_ Cheryl could think everything would be forgiven so quickly? This is not how the world works.

After ignoring her messages most of the day, she finally texted back saying that she just needed some space until she’s ready to talk. Even though she’s furious with Cheryl, she still cares about her enough to avoid confrontation too soon.

“I think that’s a great idea, Mom. We should offer support however we can.”

She wishes it’d be so easy with _Kevin_. Thinking about Kevin is really what gets her heart plummeting even deeper into the deep pit of her stomach. He hasn’t answered any of her texts, hasn’t picked up any of her calls, and she doesn’t know _what_ to do to make him forgive her. Maybe it’s just like her and Cheryl — something that only distance and time can fix.

It just really sucks. She’s so used to having Kevin around, now. Walking to school and getting coffee, catching up on the steps, meeting during class breaks. He’s been her rock ever since she came back to town.

Her phone buzzes against the polished, wooden surface of the table, pulling her out of her thoughts. A picture of her father lights up on the screen.

She takes a deep breath, exchanging a pointed glance with Hermione, and getting up before picking up the phone. “Daddy! Buenos dias.”

“Palomita,” he greets through the phone, voice light today. “I just put down my copy of the paper and I wanted to call you right away. You looked beautiful at Cotillion. I can’t believe I missed your debut. And the write-up! What an improvement from the fall.”

Veronica smiles a little, but feels a bitter taste in her mouth. His words sound genuine, but they wouldn’t be _his_ without the insinuations regarding her past behavior. Wouldn’t a simple _I’m proud_ suffice? 

“Thank you, Daddy. We had a lovely time,” she tells him, not mentioning the mess of what happened before, during and after those pictures were taken. “The bracelet was the perfect touch, as well.”

“I bet, and I’m glad you picked Elio as your escort. A smart young man with the right looks and the proper pedigree. I thought all hope for rave reviews was surely lost with your sudden change of plans.”

Veronica heaves out a breath. She looks at her mother, who’s not paying attention to her conversation like she used to — in fact, Hermione has her phone in her hand and a stupid smile on her face, something that definitely has to do with someone who does _not_ have the _right_ pedigree.

But she looks so much happier.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Veronica says one more time.

“I hope you carry on with this upstanding behavior and not let me down again.”

He hangs up with the loose promise of coming to the city for a visit soon. Veronica has been used to his comments for so long, she hardly gets worked up like she used to as a girl. It only makes her think back to her talk with Archie at the end of the night.

_“I haven’t even done enough to have my father here.”_

_“I’m still here.”_

_Yes_ , he was. Someone who never made her feel little or _less_ , someone who’s been there for her even when she desperately didn’t want him to be because it was too much. Veronica bites her lower lip. She has toyed with the idea the whole weekend, and didn’t get brave enough to go through with it, but…

Her fingers hover over the keyboard of her phone. The last text they exchanged was last year, when she wished him good luck for his first live gig. Archie was such a gentleman on Saturday, making her night so much better. It doesn’t have to mean all that much, she thinks, teeth sinking harder into her lip as she contemplates.

**_good morning, archiekins!_ **

She types and presses send before she can talk herself out of it.

Archie — obviously — doesn’t see it right away. Veronica stares at the message for two whole minutes with her face hot. Did she really need to add an exclamation mark? She shakes her head, and shoves her phone very deep inside her purse, just so she doesn’t have to look at it. “I have to go to school,” she tells her mom, who’s still endlessly smiling and texting.

“Have a nice day, honey.”

Jughead walks side-by-side with Jellybean up 3rd Street in the direction of her school. She’s learning how to do intricate braids online, lately, and her brown hair looks really put together, which is an odd sight. He remembers having to hold her hand down the sidewalk when she was little and his mom would send them off to school with a packed lunch. Now, she’s in eighth grade and will hopefully be joining him on the Upper East Side to start high school next year.

Things really have changed.

“Are you going to pick up Archie after you drop me off?” Jellybean asks, looking anywhere but at Jughead. He chuckles. His little sister’s crush is very endearing.

“Not today,” he says. “He told me he’s running late. I have to be at the paper before first period.”

“Mmm.”

 _Mmm_ , indeed. Jughead doesn’t really know what to expect when he walks back into the Register’s office today, but he hopes to find it empty. It’s not that he’s a coward, he just isn’t ready to face Betty after what went down on Saturday night.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still _hurt_ — and Betty’s radio silence throughout the entirety of Sunday didn’t help. There was no news from her, not even in the Blue and Gold.

Of course, _maybe_ she was just expecting for him to reach out, but he doesn’t really think he should have to. She couldn’t even apologize for the whole debutante fiasco. He’s still disappointed to have learned that she _condoned_ her mother’s thoughts about the entire thing.

He always knew he didn’t belong in her world. He always knew her parents would never think he was good enough for her. He just never expected _her_ to feel the same way.

“Do you think Dad is going to marry Mrs. Lodge?” Jellybean asks after a beat of silence. Jughead almost chokes on his own saliva, snapping out of his thoughts.

“ _Marry Mrs. Lodge?_ JB, they’re not even together.” He shoots his eyebrows up. It’s true, as far as he knows.

“Aren’t they? They were texting _all_ morning. I saw her name in the notifications.”

“They’re old friends, maybe they’re just chatting.” Jughead pulls on her braid purposefully, making her complain, and reminding himself to tell his dad to put a password on his phone. This kid is growing way too fast.

He pulls his sister in for a brief side hug as they approach her school, promising to see her later before he walks to the subway to head into Manhattan.

Most of the train ride, Jughead reads. He hasn’t had much time to himself during his commute since Archie started tagging along. Surprisingly, he’s still ahead of schedule — moving up the steps and navigating through the still-empty hallways.

He went to sleep last night with the sole purpose of arriving early this morning with enough time to submit his completed work. However, like some joke from fate, just as he’s slipping the articles, and the accompanying flash drive with pictures, into her bin, Betty’s walking through the door.

She seems surprised to see him there too.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he offers, glancing at her. She was so beautiful at the ball with her white dress and blonde curls over her shoulders. He remembers watching her dancing from the crowd and feeling blinded by her smile because she looked like a princess. _Now_ , she looks a lot more like _his_ Betty again, perky ponytail and a soft navy sweater. He wants to walk up to her and give her a kiss, and steal five minutes with her, but… “I— um. I had some time this morning so wanted to get these to you ahead of this week’s deadline.”

There’s something in her face and Jughead doesn’t know if it’s distaste or disappointment. He wishes for the latter, but feels like it’s definitely the first. She shoulders her bag and walks slowly into the office.

“Ok. Thanks.”

It’s awkward and uncomfortable, the two of them not really looking at each other and without much more to say.

It’s never been like this between them.

He supposes it’s better than nothing. He knows Betty Cooper is a professional — he is too — but it doesn’t help the sinking feeling that she doesn’t want to rectify the situation between them. Maybe she’s relieved that it all went down. Maybe she just didn’t know _how_ to tell him, so her mother did, and here they are. 

“I still have a few shots to finalize, but I’ll email them to you as soon as they’re edited.”

“That sounds good, Jughead.” She closes her fists and turns her back on him, apparently to find something on a shelf. May as well wave him off.

 _This is it, then_ , he thinks, a lump forming in his throat. He lets his gaze fall over her one more time, and then swallows. “Ok.”

After lunch — that she made sure to eat far away from the steps — just before the bell rings to her Geography class, Veronica sees Kevin in the long hallway that connects both schools. He and Moose Mason are talking at the end of the row of blue lockers.

She stops in her tracks. Kevin looks tired and puffy-eyed, and it breaks her heart. She wonders if she should walk up to him and try to apologize or at least make some conversation, but when he looks up and sees her, all that hope deflates.

Her friend holds her gaze for maybe a second, before looking past her and back at the boy standing beside him. He says something to Moose and pats his shoulder, walking down the hall to leave. She can’t even blame him for not wanting to _see_ her — his whole world was blown up and there’s not much she could say about it except _I’m sorry_ for what isn’t even _her_ fault.

Veronica’s lunch was minimal, but now it feels like it could come back at any moment.

She slings her bag a little higher into the crook of her elbow before trudging back to her locker with a heavy heart. Entering her combination, the locker swings open and she holds the cold, metal door to swap out her books.

“ _Ronnie,_ hey!”

She whirls around and is met with Archie, jogging through the connecting hallway, his sneakers squeaking like a child’s along the linoleum flooring.

He approaches her with a shy smile and she can’t help the chuckles erupting from her chest.

“Hi, Archie,” she greets. Her bottom lip works its way between her teeth when she turns to face her locker again. He had answered her good morning message earlier on with several sun emojis that made her smile on the way to school.

“Hey— thought I’d check if you’re ok,” he says, cheeks flushed, possibly from the quick run. “You know, after…”

It’s been some awful couple of days and no one has really asked her how she’s been. Granted, no one else really _knew_. But the truth is: spending time with Archie, even if not much, was the only light of the last seventy-two hours.

“Well,” she starts with a breath. “Kevin is so upset, and I’m not sure if Elio’s family is going to handle this well, and—”

He lets out a low laugh. It makes her stop talking to frown at him. “I wanna know if _you’re_ ok, Ronnie,” he says, and then gets more serious, tilting his head as if trying to read the expression on her face. “You were sad on Saturday.”

“It got better when this certain knight in blue armor decided to sweep in and rescue me,” Veronica briefly touches his tie, smiling up at him. She’ll scold herself for flirting later, but it just comes naturally, as do the red spots on his face. It’s impossible not to be grateful to him for saving such an important night. “No, really, I’m— I’m ok.” She shrugs. “At least all that happened, happened before I made a decision that I couldn’t step back from, and… My dad called today. Said he’s proud of me for not ruining the evening. I guess that’s a first.”

“I’m glad you two talked,” he says, looking down for a moment. There it is, again. The _silence_ that somehow always gets between them now.

Veronica holds her books against her chest a little tighter. Any other day she’d just say _thanks_ and walk away, but— “How about you? How was the rest of your weekend?”

He seems surprised that the conversation didn’t end, his eyes widening just a little when he looks back at her. “I… I spent yesterday morning having breakfast with my mom — the first time in a few weeks.” He laughs. It’s sweet, picturing him and Mary Andrews having breakfast. “Then I took the train back to Brooklyn… Played guitar.” He scratches the back of his head. “The usual stuff.”

Of course, he practically lives there now. With his dad. Veronica knows he likes the neighborhood, and apparently the pretty, stylish, green-eyed girls who live in the same neighborhood. She wonders if they spent some time together on Sunday, if he told her about Cotillion.

He probably did.

Veronica thinks if she laughs it off, it may sound insane but if she keeps staring her nostrils could flare instinctively. “Right…” She says, focusing on his face while steadying her breath. “Tell Fred I said _hi_? I haven’t seen him since…”

“Forever, yeah,” he’s quick to complete. Truth is, she hasn’t seen Archie’s dad since _before_ everything. “I’ll pass the message along.”

The shrill bell signaling the next block rings overhead and she nearly sighs in relief, though there’s a little sadness at having to leave him now.

“I have to…” She points towards the girl’s hall. “But… To be continued?”

Archie’s smile broadens, pointy white teeth on full display, and the nod of his head seems like a sure thing. “Definitely.”

* * *

_do our eyes deceive us? or were a and v deceiving every pair fixated on them in the hallway? if someone has something to say about **#varchie** , speak now or forever hold your peace. the clock is always ticking with these two._

* * *

The townhouse is empty when Betty walks in, as it often is in the middle of the afternoon. She’s glad that her parents aren’t here — they ultimately brushed everything under the rug and never gave her a hard time after the Cotillion fiasco (her mom was, actually, _quite pleased_ that she ended up the evening with the — quote — right people).

Betty still doesn’t want to spend more time at home with them than necessary.

Shrugging off her coat and shoes, Betty leaves them in the foyer at her designated space. There are five brass hooks on the wall, one assigned to each Cooper family member, and one ready for guests. Her mother always leaves an extra umbrella in hers, her father always forgets his umbrella, and Polly’s… Polly’s hasn’t been used in forever.

Betty sighs, tired, looking at the empty space that used to be her sister’s. She’s normally really good at compartmentalizing her woes, but today is a day she could use Polly’s presence. Her sister’s advice was always the best.

She has no idea what to do about the Jughead situation — by the way he acted in the morning, all professionalism and politeness, things really were over before they really started — but Polly would know what to do. She always knew what to do, always on top of her game, in a way that always made her more similar to Veronica than Betty.

When they were kids, Betty used to think Polly felt more like Veronica’s sister than her own. She was always so sure of herself.

It still feels surreal that her sister is in a facility with God-knows-who taking care of her. It feels crazy that she was hearing voices that told her to hurt herself and others until she actually did it. Even more that the doctors think Betty could do the same thing.

In her room, Betty sits at her desk and turns on her laptop with the intention of starting her homework, but as soon as she opens the browser, something else comes to mind — Reggie’s words about the effects the wrong medication had on his brother.

She gnaws on her lower lip and searches for things like **_can lithium induce panic attacks?_** or **_can lithium induce anxiety?_** and the common sense between the users and articles is that _it shouldn’t_. In fact, it should prevent either from happening altogether.

The way this all started was so insane. Betty can barely remember it properly, only that one minute she thought Polly was at Brown and the next she found out it was all a lie. She went through the whirlwind of doctors and exams, but she doesn’t remember _needing_ any of it. She can’t remember having any of the same symptoms of her sister. She is an anxious person, yes, has always been, and yes, the self harm definitely meant something _was_ wrong, but she never hallucinated or had cognition problems, she was never deluded. No voice ever told her to sink her nails into her palms.

That is, before she was told she could have the same thing as her sister, since those things are often hereditary. Before she was forced to routinely down those pills.

She googles the medication again. _Usually prescribed for bipolar disorder, schizophrenic disorder, or major depressive disorder when other treatments aren't effective._

But _what_ other treatments? Betty never even tried anything else. Maybe she doesn’t even need these meds. Maybe that’s why they don't work the way it’s supposed to.

Maybe it’s just another way her mother has found to control her, and she never questioned any of it. Until now.

She does miss Polly, but she _isn’t_ Polly. She doesn’t have to go through the same bullshit.

Betty tosses and turns all night, not really being able to fall asleep.

She wonders if she should — _could_ — talk to someone about all the things running through her head. Veronica would be the first option, but Betty doesn’t want to worry her, or to trigger anything. Her mother is, after all, still recovering from an addiction. The only one who knew anything about what went down with Polly was Archie, and even though he would most definitely try to help her, Betty’s stomach can’t really handle going to him about this _now_.

Jughead… Well. She can’t even think about him without feeling a sharp pain in her chest.

There’s no one, she decides. No one she wants to turn to. Her friends don’t deserve to carry such a burden and her other friends aren’t really trustworthy in such a delicate matter. She’s alone in this.

Her mother walks into her room early in the morning, as usual. Betty only pretends to have her eyes shut when Alice opens the curtains. “Good morning, honey. For your medication,” she says, placing something on Betty’s nightstand and leaving the room before she even stirs.

Betty opens her eyes to find a glass of orange juice in there. Feeling heavy, she sits up and stares at the juice. She does reach out for the bottle of lithium in her drawer.

She weighs her decision, staring at the pill she’s supposed to swallow. Who guarantees this isn’t going to end with her locked away somewhere just like her sister?

Betty hides the pill under her mattress, downs the orange juice, and puts the bottle back into the drawer.

She isn’t sick. She doesn’t need this.

During lunch on Friday Veronica grabs a mixed salad bowl and tea from the nearby cafe arriving at the steps right on time.

Veronica avoided the girls — and _Cheryl_ — for most of the week, but decided to show face today. Best not to give any reasons for speculation of her recent distance from the group or add fuel to a fire.

Cheryl hovers close with Ginger while Tina and Nancy wave to the Stonewall senior boys crossing the street. Cheryl looks impeccable, as usual, thigh high red boots that go perfectly in her long legs, but there’s a hint of tiredness in her face, a downcast expression. Only someone who knows her features so well would pick up on the dark circles expertly hidden by concealer. Veronica misses her, of course, but is grateful that she’s been giving her the space she needs.

Veronica doesn’t look at her too long — she doesn’t want to be reminded of her absence.

Midge settles next to Veronica on the cold concrete and starts talking. Moose has apparently been very _present_ in Midge’s life since the party last Saturday.

“He asked me out for dinner tonight!” She squeals, eyes bright with excitement. “I can’t believe after all these years I’m really going on a date with Moose Mason.”

"He is very handsome, Midge," Veronica says, supportive.

“Hello ladies!” A familiar boy yells from the base of the museum’s sidewalk.

Both Midge and Veronica chuckle as Reggie sprints up the steps two at a time, with Archie trailing behind him, a coy smile on his lips.

“Reginald,” Veronica greets, forgetting about Kevin and Cheryl and all that hurts, for a moment.

Reggie looks great in his all-black apparel. She recognizes his black coat and admires the cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck.

Archie moves from behind their friend, looking just as handsome in his navy coat and a grey beanie hiding his red strands.

Reggie rubs his hands together before clasping the leather gloves together mischievously. “T.G.I Friday, right? And we are _all_ going to 1 OAK tonight.”

“We are?” Veronica asks with a smile, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, darling.” Reggie reaches out to graze Veronica’s chin with his gloved hands. She giggles, batting away his hand. “I got us a table and my bud Archie here,” he wraps his arm around Archie’s shoulder, and Veronica notices how his cheeks turn red, “is _finally_ coming out.”

There’s a burst of giggles between the girls. Veronica sees Cheryl trying hard not to roll her eyes, as Archie tries to push Reggie off jokingly, the redness spreading all the way to his neck now.

“Out with us to the club,” Reggie clarifies, “stop being so tragic, man.”

The girls keep on laughing.

“Thanks, but no, thanks,” Cheryl gets up, visibly annoyed with the boys' presence and the frenzy they normally cause. She glances at Veronica, pursing her lips. “I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

The other girls, obviously, follow her lead in opting out, and her steps as she walks away. Veronica feels a pang in her heart, because she knows Kevin would love to be here and comment on this situation. Her smile fades a little, and she looks down briefly.

When Veronica looks up again, she notices that Archie looks away very quickly.

Midge, the only one that stayed, says she can’t go given her plans with Moose.

“Well, that’s too bad.” Reggie sighs, although he doesn’t sound entirely disappointed. “I guess it’ll only be me, Arch, our girl V, and—”

“Where is our girl V going?” Betty shows up, stopping next to Reggie on the steps, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. Veronica smiles when she sees her best friend.

She can’t help but feel like Betty’s been avoiding her all week.

Rumors started swirling after her hallway run-in with Archie, thanks to the _at-blueandgold_ , but she was quick to brush off the rest that followed — Archie, bless his soul, was never really into the gossip account.

Her paranoia about it had sent Veronica into worrying about B’s reaction. However, after another round of vague replies, Betty assured her she’d just been busy this week and seemed genuine about it. Veronica did catch her organizing archives in the Register’s office that were there since God knows when, so she decided to believe in her.

“Coop!” Reggie wraps his other arm around Betty. Apparently they got more comfortable around each other since the ball. “We’re having a party for three at 1 OAK tonight.”

“Three? Make it a party for four.”

Veronica shoots a surprised look at the blonde.

“What? I’m ready to go out and have a little fun with my friends. Last weekend got a bit stuffy, anyway.”

It is weird, though, that Betty is _here_ with them and not stealing a moment to stay with Jughead. Now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t seen Betty with Jughead all week.

Reggie smiles brightly, like a kid on Christmas morning. “Alright, now we’re talking. Girls—” He looks between Betty and Veronica, wiggling his eyebrows, “—I’ll arrange to pick you up at ten.”

* * *

_looks like king reggie is determined to have it all. the question is, with whom? one thing we're sure of: friday night can never be boresome when there's potential for an unexpected foursome._

* * *

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

Jughead can’t see the construction site, but he can definitely hear it. And feel it right down to the nerves in his teeth. Every time there’s a _bang_ , the whole ground seems to shake a little, Pop’s windows dangerously trembling. He wonders, briefly, how the whole city doesn’t collapse from the impact.

He stares at the blinking cursor on his laptop, hovering over a blank document. There’s a bunch of items waiting for him in his inbox, but he has no will to open any of them, not after the last picture sent to the Blue and Gold.

Reggie Mantle wrapping his arms around Archie and Betty on the MET steps, a bright smile on her face. They haven’t talked at all this week, sticking to formal conversation via email — like it was settled on Monday — and the only time Jughead ventured to the Register’s office while she was in there, she had her hair up in a bun and was _scrubbing_ the shelves, a bunch of files and books surrounding her in unimaginable piles.

“Do you need my help reaching the higher shelves?” he dared to ask. Betty didn’t even look at him when she said _no, I can handle it_.

And now she’s hugging Reggie Mantle.

Veronica is the picture too, which explains Archie’s sudden desire to spend his weekend on the Upper East Side, and Jughead doesn’t _care_ that Betty is back to going out with her friends, but Reggie is such an asshole.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

Jughead shakes his head and reverts his attention to his laptop, staring at the blank document teasing him.

Gratefully, Fangs offered to cover his shift at The Blend — claiming to need extra cash for the various dates he’s got coming up. Jughead, who doesn’t have _his_ date anymore, all but left right then, not needing another reason to book it across the bridge.

He certainly could use a night away from _that_ part of town.

“Refill?” Toni asks, already pouring him a fresh cup anyway. Pop’s may not have the pretentious coffee menu that The Blend does, but it always tastes a little better because it’s home. Familiar.

“Might as well,” he chides. “Either I’ll garner the strength to start this or I’ll end up in the hospital from the excessive caffeine. Though then I’d have something personal to write about.”

Toni chuckles and he takes it as a moment to avoid the white screen and look at his oldest friend. He did miss talking to Toni. It feels like it’s been a million years since they hung out without Archie.

“Did you find the answer for your existential crisis there?” Toni asks, trying to peek at his screen. Jughead instinctively closes the laptop.

“I’m not having an existential crisis.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

She sets the coffee pot down and brings a closed fist to rest on her hip. “Really? Then why are you spending the first Friday afternoon in months attempting to write in the diner? This is a scene I haven’t witnessed since you and blondie started going out.”

He knows she’s got him there — his Fridays always spent either working at The Blend while Betty studied, working _with_ Betty, or in the most recent months, kissing Betty.

Jughead shrugs his head, face remaining stoic. “I have off for the night, and wanted to enjoy the comforts of home,” he says simply. “But the _service…_ ”

Toni smacks a hand across his upper arm and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Where’s the Bert to your Ernie? He just sent me a new song. He sounds great.”

“Spending the weekend with his preppy friends,” Jughead sounds more annoyed than he should. Toni chuckles at him, and he runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. Last weekend’s Cinderella fiasco has turned me into a bitter man. I’m glad it just fueled Archie’s creativity.”

“What were you thinking, going to the debutante ball, anyway?” Toni shakes her head. Jughead heaves out a breath. _Exactly_. What the fuck was he thinking? “Let Red have some fun, Jug. He spent almost all his weekends working hard in a songwriting workshop with Val, he’s earned it. Besides, you should take a page from his book and channel all this broodiness into something positive, too.”

“If I could find anything to write about that isn’t _no one cares about the Blue and Gold_ or _why is my girlfriend’s mother a witch_.” He sighs. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

“I told you already, the Blue and Gold is a very valid tool and people do care about it.” She looks at him with the same expression she’s had her entire life, some affection disguised as a bossy attitude. “You have plenty to write about. Not even Archie was this whiny and, trust me, I slept with him.”

Jughead carelessly spits out the sip of hot coffee, meeting Toni’s look of amusement. “What?”

His friend raises an eyebrow. “A secret not even the anonymous gossip accounts knows.” She laughs and picks up the pot to walk back to the counter. “Chop chop, Jughead.”

The sun starts to set, a little later now that spring is on the horizon, and Betty feels great.

She got the paper published early — she didn’t even need Jughead to do it, just an organized space to work — and even went on a jog after school. The Uber drops her off in front of The Five Seasons and she’s been looking forward to a night out with her friends all day.

The shopping bags in her hands are a little heavy as she crosses the sidewalk and enters through the hotel’s revolving doors. Betty hadn’t felt inspired by any of the items hanging in her closet, so she ended up taking an hour along Fifth and popping into a few stores — she wants to have plenty of options.

The receptionist acknowledges her in the lobby before Betty makes her way up the elevator and steps out into the suite. Veronica did say she was going to leave the door unlocked in case Betty arrived while she was in the shower.

“V?” She calls out, padding across the living room to her bedroom. “I’m here!”

Veronica’s ensuite counter is covered in beauty products and Betty smiles — it feels like forever since she’s gotten ready with her best friend for a night out, or even felt the energy to do so. The past few months have been so _slow_.

“B!” Veronica greets brightly, clad in a silk robe and clipped hair. “Oh, wow, someone went on a shopping spree,” Veronica says, nodding at all the bags she’s carrying.

“I couldn’t find anything in my closet,” Betty lays everything on Veronica’s bed. “Nothing that would be deemed inappropriate by Alice Cooper, at least.” She smiles at her friend.

“Well, you can always raid my closet when you feel like pissing off your mom.” Veronica giggles. “Help me decide.” She points to the items of clothing arranged neatly across the bed.

There’s a pair of leather pants situated beneath a velvet halter top and a few mini dresses scattered there as well. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Only sparkling water and juice.” Veronica sighs. Betty lifts her eyebrows. “No alcohol allowed in the suite while mom’s in here,” she explains.

“Well… Is your mom _in_ here?” she asks with a pointed grin.

“Who are you and what did you do with Betty Cooper?” Veronica seems pleasantly surprised by her attitude. Betty shrugs as she examines the options on Veronica’s bed. “You’re right, and if I’m not mistaken, she won’t be here for hours. Let me see if I can call in some favors with the hotel bar.”

It turns out that Veronica _can_ call in some favors from the staff. Less than twenty minutes later, while Veronica sits Betty down to do her makeup, they are sipping on cold champagne.

“Don’t let me forget to dispose of the bottle outside the hotel after we’re done,” Veronica asks. Betty closes her eyes so her friend can put some eyeshadow on her eyelids. The brush tickles her skin. “Stand still, B.”

Betty laughs. She doesn’t think she can stand _that_ still, but she tries.

“So… If I may ask,” Veronica starts. Betty can sense the caution in her best friend’s voice. “Where is your Brooklyn beau this weekend? I thought it was quite romantic that he showed up at Cotillion…”

“Jughead made it quite clear that we’re not exactly compatible.” Betty brushes it off. She was still pretty upset about Jughead’s _omission_ this week — he truly didn’t even _try_ to talk to her, he just let things _be_ — but, right now, she’s not even entertaining the thought.

“What?” Veronica takes a step back. “But didn’t you guys—”

“I don’t wanna talk about this, V,” Betty says, honestly. “Can you fill up my glass? I just want to have fun. I feel good.”

Veronica doesn’t push her to talk more. They finish up their make up and settle for choosing their outfits instead, laughing and drinking. When ready, her best friend looks stunning in the black leather skirt, making her tan legs look longer. She tucks in a silk blouse with a plunging neckline and straps into her high heels. Veronica turns her back to Betty and holds out her choker pearl necklace, silently asking her to help with the clasp.

After rifling through her purchases, Betty is pleased with her choice: a powder blue suede mini dress. It’s got little gemstones scattered throughout and the neckline is adorned with fringe. Veronica instructs her to move playfully in front of the mirror.

“I love how this moves,” V says while playing with the hanging pieces of fabric. “And the jewels will catch the light.”

Betty smiles at Veronica’s reflection. She really misses Veronica, still feels her absence from the year she spent away. She doesn’t think there’s enough time in the world that’ll make it up for those lost months. “Thanks, V.”

Veronica’s phone buzzes on the vanity and it ceases their conversation. She picks it up and laughs, rolling her eyes. “The boys are downstairs.”

They grab their clutches and coats before making their way through the lobby. The brisk air hits her cheeks and Betty can’t help but smile when she spots the boys.

Reggie’s head is sticking out the top of the limo and his hands wave at them dramatically. “Come on ladies, your chariot awaits.”

Archie shoves his hands into his pockets as they walk into the club, the loud music thumping right through his ribcage. He looks around for a second, his head a little hazy from the second-hand smoke back in the limo.

In front of him, Reggie’s got an arm wrapped around Veronica’s waist, and she’s giggling at something he’s said, as she usually is.

It’s been a _while_ since he’s seen _this much_ of Veronica’s bare thighs in front of him — the stripping video doesn’t count. He had to keep his focus forward in the limo so he didn’t come off as too much of a creep just _staring._ The white top she’s wearing is _very_ low cut. His mouth feels permanently dry.

There’s a loud laugh as Reggie throws his head back, bringing Ronnie in a little closer. In all honesty, he envies it, the ease Reggie has with Veronica even though he’s also confessed that his feelings for her were real.

 _I wanted her back in my life, in any way she wanted to be in it._ If only he could do the same, act naturally without… Falling.

Like the night of Cotillion.

Archie heaves a breath, following behind with Betty beside him.

He gives her some space to walk ahead of him, and she shoots him a sweet smile that he gives back despite the turmoil inside him. Archie thinks it’s a bit weird, how right now, it feels like they’re back in time.

_Archie sat cutting up his pancakes while listening to Betty ramble on about something Cheryl told her happening with the school faculty next year, after the scandal that came out: the music teacher was actually, allegedly, teaching way too much to her students._

_He tried to remain an interested boyfriend, nodding his head at the right moments and holding her hand. The music teacher was, indeed, a bit creepy._

_But then everything faded into the bustle of the diner, his attention quickly fixated on the door._

_Reggie and Veronica walked in through the entrance, clearly hungover, laughing as if they were the happiest people in the world._

_They always seemed like the happiest people in the world. Especially together. It’d been hard to watch them interact after the summer. The time they all spent together in the Hamptons while Betty was away, the way Veronica was there for him through his parents’ divorce when they came back home._

_Archie felt like shit for thinking that — for thinking that Veronica didn’t belong with Reggie, that Veronica didn’t belong with anyone who wasn’t him — but feeling like shit didn’t stop him from thinking it._

_Betty looked up over her orange juice at the “couple” and waved them right over. “Hey! Join us!” She greeted their friends._

_Archie made room as Betty pushed her plate across the table and slid into the seat next to him, leaving the other side of the booth open._

_Reggie slid an arm easily across the back of the booth to wrap a hand around Veronica’s shoulder, squeezing her and whispering something into her ear. It made her laugh and the joyous sound halted when their waitress appeared._

_The dark-haired pair ordered two black coffees and started telling stories about their wild adventure in the Meatpacking District last night, hopping bars and downing shots._

_Betty’s ponytail bounced with laughter, the longest curl tickling across his shoulder. She leaned in affectionately, and as bad as he tried to push down the thought, Archie couldn’t help but wish he was sitting on the other side of the booth._

“Coop!” Reggie calls, pulling on the fringe of Betty’s blue dress. “Sit here,” he pats on the velvet seat next to him.

Betty plops down on the wraparound couch. “Oooh, tequila, haven’t had that in a while!” She says. Archie frowns. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Betty so enthusiastic about a night out. She reaches forward for the chilled bottle in the center of the small table, and pours them four shots with as much grace as can be expected.

“Do you know they drink it with cinnamon in Germany?” Reggie asks, excited, slinging a hand around Betty’s waist. “Damn, we really have to take that trip to Berlin!” He punches Archie’s arm.

“Oh, I love Berlin!” Veronica enters their private section. She stopped on their way in to have a quick chat with some girl calling her name. She raises an eyebrow at Betty and Reggie before looking at Archie with an amused look. He feels the corner of his lips twitch.

“V! Shots!” Betty slurs.

Archie shrugs and, maybe following Reggie’s lead, pats playfully on the open spot next to him. Veronica smiles and sits down, throwing her hair to the side, a wave of perfume invading his nostrils.

Betty is babbling with her shot, liquor slopping over the rim, as Reggie pushes the other still-filled glasses to Archie and Veronica. He grabs both of them, raising one to the girl beside him.

“To the four of us, doing some scandalous shit that’ll end up in the Blue and Gold!”

“That bitch who hates me!” Betty raises her glass too. Veronica, by his side, ends up exploding in laughter, and he can’t help but laugh too. He clinks his shot with Veronica’s and tries not to blush with how she holds his eye contact as they down it, letting the hot liquid scorch his throat.

It feels more inappropriate than it should.

“Wooo!”

The song changes and Betty bolts out of her seat, pulling Veronica without a word and heading with her to the dance floor.

Reggie pours one more shot for them. “To when I drag your ass to Berlin with me!” He cheers and drinks. Archie downs his second shot too and watches as his friend gets up to follow the girls.

For a few minutes, Archie stands alone at their private table, watching Betty and Veronica move to the beat of the music. It’s nice to see them together again, so happy. He’s witnessed the growth of their rekindled friendship ever since Veronica came back, but he’s felt removed from it somehow, like he didn’t have any right to want them back in his life after what happened.

He’s unable to hold back his laughter as Reggie slithers between the girls. Archie cracks up and decides to take a third and final shot.

“Arch!” Betty waves at him, summoning him to the dance floor.

There’s a part of him that doesn’t really want to join them. He’s a little scared of how he’ll behave with the alcohol, the atmosphere, _the haze_. But Veronica calls him too, “Come, Archiekins!” and, before he knows, he finds himself in the crowd, under the pulsing lights.

The girls dance on their own at first, leaving Archie to be dragged around the floor by Reggie, who shouts things at him that he can’t really understand. The tequila takes over at some point, making him a little dizzy as he pays extra attention to the beat of the music that reverberates inside him.

Archie closes his eyes for a second, or a minute. He opens them when the song slowly melts into another, only to see Veronica right in front of him, her arms raised and her head tilted back as she dances to the rhythm.

Her dark hair sways between her shoulders and he finds himself staring at the way it shines under the lights, mesmerizing like a siren.

In the corner of his eye, he barely makes out the sight of Betty and Reggie migrating closer to each other on the dance floor — his eyes unable to leave Veronica.

He knows he’s staring, watching as she feels his eyes on her and turns to look at him. She offers a little smile and his heart starts beating faster than it did after taking the last shot of tequila. He didn’t realize he was so close, but when she turns around with her back to his chest, he can feel the heat of her body emanating, the smell of her deep perfume coming from her hair.

Archie dares to follow the movement of her body as she moves, keeping his itchy hands to himself for as long as he can before just one of them rests on her hip so they fall in the same cadence as the song slows down, _rushing through me, I feel your energy rushing through me…_

This is different from slow dancing at Cotillion, he thinks when he places his other hand on her _other_ hip, trying with all his might not to pull her flush against him. This is _very_ different.

Veronica turns in his hands and his breath hitches, because she’s way too close. She keeps on dancing, one of her legs instinctively fitting between his. It’s almost impossible not to think of the way their bodies fit together. Archie looks down at her, tongue poking out to wet his drying lips. _Fuck._

Her dark eyes dart from his mouth up to his eyes and she takes a step back. “I’m getting drinks,” she says. A second later, he’s aware of his surroundings and looks for their friends, Veronica’s eyes searching over his shoulder, making him remember that they weren’t _alone_.

Even over the pounding music, he can hear the surely audible gasp he lets out at the scene before him. Reggie’s arms are snaked around Betty’s waist and her hands are in his hair as they _kiss_. For real. Archie’s mouth hangs open when he sees the pink of Reggie’s tongue between their mouths.

_“What the hell?”_

When he turns around to gauge Veronica’s reaction, she’s gone, already disappeared into the crowd.

“Hey, _barista_!”

Jughead rolls his eyes behind the counter, facing away from the patrons when Bret Weston Wallis, one of the guys from Stonewall, calls for his colleague from the express bar.

“Yeah?” Fangs answers, sounding annoyed.

“I’m confused,” a pretentious drawl comes next. “Is this so-called latte art supposed to be a heart or a tree?”

Jughead turns around to watch the interaction unfold, chuckling when Fangs takes the cup and pretends to inspect his handiwork. “It _was_ a maple leaf before you dropped your stirrer in there.”

Bret raises his eyebrows at Fangs’ response, giving Jughead a sharp look and walking back to his table out front, complaining about something under his breath.

Fangs shakes his head with a scowl. “Next time, it’ll be a dick,” he tells Jughead in a low voice.

He cracks up silently. It’s probably his first genuine laugh this entire week — everything was just _so_ shitty the past few days.

Jughead turns his head to the entrance at the sound of a new customer, greeted by the sight of Archie Andrews, looking so hungover he clearly didn’t bother styling his messy red hair.

“Fangs, a large red eye,” Jughead says as Archie approaches the cashier. “And a saline drip?” He jokes. Archie rubs his eyes under the sunglasses.

“If someone ever tells you it’s a good idea to have _another_ shot of tequila and you agree with them, it’s because it’s not a good idea,” Archie laments, inserting his debit card to pay for the coffee.

Jughead chuckles. “I will remember that in the many nights out I’ll be invited to in the future.”

He doesn’t want to sound bitter, but that’s exactly how he sounds — luckily, Archie pays him no mind. Fangs scoffs as he hands Archie the coffee cup, disappearing inside the kitchen for a moment. The walk-in traffic is pretty slow for a Saturday morning, so Archie sits at the express bar.

Jughead wipes the counter as Archie takes the first sips of his drink between yawns.

“So,” Archie starts after a couple of minutes.

“So…?”

“Is anything… Uh… Wrong, between you and Betty?”

Jughead sighs. Obviously, now it's public knowledge.

“Yeah,” he admits, seeing Archie frown underneath the shades. “We’re not as compatible as I thought we were. She made that pretty clear.”

He wonders _why_ this is coming up. They went out yesterday, and they were all over the Blue and Gold’s feed — Archie and Betty. _Well._ Reggie and Veronica in pictures that featured Archie and Betty as well.

Perhaps she mentioned something, or now Archie is seeing some opportunity to ask for a second chance he doesn’t even want, just because.

“And you know what, that’s a good thing, that she realized it before anything got too serious.” Jughead goes on before Archie can speak. “I mean, I shouldn’t be focusing on this sort of thing anyway. The SATs are coming up and I— I missed Brooklyn too, hanging out with people that actually like me. I need to write. Besides, I always knew Betty and I were on borrowed time, so…” He shrugs.

“This doesn’t make any sense.”

“She didn’t look so beaten up about it yesterday, did she?” Jughead raises his eyebrows. Betty was definitely smiling in most of the pictures. The redhead opens his mouth but closes it without a word. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Archie shakes his head slightly, blowing out a held breath. “I’m sorry, man. I really thought you and Betty were the real deal…”

Jughead halts the rest of his words, with a raised hand. “I appreciate that, Arch. But let’s just drop it for now. Ok?”

His friend nods in understanding. “Ok. How about Pop's later? A burger might bring me back to life.”

“I get off at five.” Jughead tells him.

Archie rubs his bleary eyes and holds his cup. “Perfect, cause I need a nap. Come to my mom’s house after work and we’ll catch the train together.”

“Is _Reggie_ coming with us?” He jokes. It comes off way more poking than intended.

Archie laughs, ignoring him and nodding behind Jughead’s shoulder. “Bye, Fangs.”

“See you, man.”

The library’s silence is making her a little nervous. She can’t really understand how on Earth she thought it’d be _relaxing_ , to stop by after school and try to get some reading done. She can’t focus on the words in front of her — too on edge. Her schedule did say _study for the SATs_ , but Betty doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t want to go back home either. She should text Veronica and ask to hang out, or something.

Annoyed with her inability to sit still, Betty gets up. The chair screeches against the wooden floor and some heads snap in her direction, followed by some hushed _shhs_. She rolls her eyes at them.

Taking the pile of books that she’s been trying to read without any success, she leaves the tables to return the books to their shelves. She wonders if she should just leave and stop to eat something — that agitation in her stomach is probably hunger. It should be, anyway. Her last full meal was dinner, last night.

But the thought of eating makes her feel a little nervous. _Nah_ , she doesn’t need food. She needs to focus and _read something_ , but since it’s been proving itself an impossible task with all this distracting silence around her, she could just listen to an audiobook while doing something else. Maybe running.

“ _Psst_ , Coop.”

Betty jumps when she hears the loud whisper calling her. She turns around and lets out a laugh when she sees Reggie behind another book shelf, looking at her through the empty spaces. “You’re in the library? Are you lost?”

He motions with his chin for her to come closer. Betty sighs and walks over to where he is. She shakes her head briefly when she sees him pretending to read a large book in French. “You wound me,” he says when she approaches him. “I’m Princeton material, kid.” Reggie wiggles his eyebrows.

Betty giggles. It’s weird that he’s calling her _kid_ after what went down on Saturday night. Not that a _lot_ went down, but it wasn’t — well, he probably shouldn’t be calling her _kid_ , not after pressing her against a wall and grabbing her ass.

The memory gets her stomach twisting a little, but in a good way. “What are you doing here, Mantle?”

He shuts the book closed. “Figured we should talk about you kissing me in the club last weekend.”

“Why do we have to talk about it?” She rests one hip against the bookshelf, a tingly sensation all over her body.

Reggie purses his lips. “I don’t know. Although I do feel we always had this tension... You are my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, your best friend is… Well, Veronica. Last time I checked you were going out with the Timothee Chalamet wannabe — no judgement, people dig whatever they dig, but—”

“I’m not with him anymore,” Betty cuts him off, tilting her head up. She really isn't. She hasn’t even _seen_ Jughead today, they haven’t spoken about anything that wasn’t in a half-assed e-mail for over a week. “Besides, Archie and Veronica have always done just fine when left alone, so.”

Reggie cocks an eyebrow at her, eyes zeroing in on her now. “Look, if you want a piece of me, Coop, all you have to do is say so. But I'd appreciate that you'd do that sober.”

Betty feels very alive as she brazenly flirts with Reggie Mantle in the school library. She looks him in the eye and lifts her chin _just slightly_ higher than before. “Ok, Mantle.” She says matter-of-factly. “I want a piece of you.”

His smirk is sinful as he carelessly places the book back into the shelf, moving closer to wrap his hand around the curve of her waist.

He tilts her face up to his and presses his lips to hers, thumb caressing her jaw. She feels good — like she did kissing him at the club. He's alive too, all muscle and skin.

Betty reaches up and tangles her fingers in his hair, swallowing the little groan he lets out when she tugs at his strands. His cologne smells _so good_ and she wants him closer, pulling on the lapels of his blazer to align their bodies.

Now sober, she confirms what her hazy drunk mind thought about — he’s a fucking good kisser. His arms are strong wrapped around her and it’s so easy to want to _keep_ kissing him. Their hips are touching and Reggie sneaks a hand under the hem of her sweater, rubbing her bare skin above the waistband of her skirt. His fingers feel heavy, and warm, and she wants him to explore more.

“Is this ok?” He asks in a breath. It’s not what she expects from Reggie Mantle, but it has her biting her lip in anticipation.

She impatiently pulls him back in for a kiss, tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. Reggie takes the opportunity and takes charge of the kiss, pushing her back against the books and grounding himself.

Being pressed up against the stacks has her thinking about other kisses against other bookshelves, but only marginally. Two weeks ago she thought being caught in an investigative tryst in the library with Jughead would be enough. But, _oh well._

Her mind comes back to the present when Reggie’s hand starts traveling north. Betty closes her eyes when his mouth finds a spot behind her ear that gets her shivering, her fingernails digging into his arms.

“I always knew you had it in you, Coop,” Reggie whispers. Betty searches for his mouth again, the taste of his tongue on hers a little addictive. She can’t deny she, not so subconsciously, thought about it before — she _did_ have it in her, but Archie never wanted to explore it and Jughead never tried to.

She’s been waiting for someone to kiss her just like Reggie does, someone who doesn’t treat her like a porcelain doll about to break under their hands.

Veronica’s Louboutins carry her up East 83rd Street as she makes her way to The Penrose for Saturday brunch with her mother. It took forever to get a reservation after the impeccable write-up in the paper.

It’s a cool March day, but warm enough to give Andre the morning off so she could walk. She pulls her camel-colored cape a little closer when she catches the gust of an early spring chill.

She got a manicure this morning at her favorite salon just an avenue west and thought she’d have enough time to get to the restaurant. Now, she’s trying to sprint gracefully through the crosswalk.

Turning the corner at 2nd Ave, she collides with impenetrable force obstructing her movements. A slightly _warm wall_.

Her face is met with a white t-shirt under a bluish-grey leather jacket, red hair all over the place.

“Archie?” She looks up, eyes gazing up his chest and face, recognition hitting her like a ton of bricks. He uses his free hand to wrap it around her upper arm, holding her firmly in place. She tingles at the contact, heart skipping a beat.

“Ronnie.” He chuckles with a shake of his head. “Hey.”

She feels like an idiot, unable to control the muscles in her face when he gives her a grin. “What are you doing over here?” She asks, noticing a bag slung over his forearm.

She takes in the sight of him. They haven’t really spoken since she shoved a very drunk Archie in the back of a town car and then into his mom’s building, last week when they were out with Betty and Reggie. She wonders if their recent rekindling since Cotillion halted _because_ of Betty and Reggie — it was very _weird_ to see them making out under the flashing lights, and perhaps they didn’t really know what to do with that — or because they were defying their limits. Again.

If Veronica had to guess, it was the latter. She _knows_ that she actively avoided him so she wouldn’t think about the way he rested his hands on her hips while they were dancing, or the tickling of his breath on the nape of her neck.

He hoists the bag backwards to comfortably rest across his broad shoulders. “I’m dropping off dry cleaning for my mom and then I’m heading down to Brooklyn. What about you?”

“I’m—” Her phone chirps in her hand, interrupting her. **_sorry, mija! i need to cancel brunch — tomorrow?_**

Veronica rolls her eyes unintentionally. _Of course._

“Ronnie?” Archie asks, bringing her back to the present.

“Well, I _was_ meeting my mom for brunch at The Penrose but something’s come up.” She runs her hand through her hair, tossing it to the side before typing a quick reply. “I could try to reschedule, but we literally spent _days_ on the waiting list.” She sighs. Looking up at him, Veronica feels her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “How do _you_ feel about brunch?”

“Brunch?” Archie’s eyebrows travel towards his hairline. Veronica gives him a smile. It’s way easier to interact with him under the broad daylight and not in some hazy atmosphere. The little smile he gives her back and the warmth that rises to his face… It’s just Archie. “I love brunch.”

Her heart does some stupid flip with the perspective of sitting down with him and chatting over pancakes. It’s been a long time. “Oh, but you’re heading to Brooklyn, right?” She remembers. “I’m sorry, I—”

“What? _No_. No, no, I can— I can definitely just go later. I mean, you waited all these days for a table…” He seems to catch himself after the first few stutters and it gets her smiling at him a little wider.

“It would be a shame to miss it.” She says, a tad more flirtatiously than intended.

“Do we have time to drop this off?” He signals the garment bag.

Veronica glances down at her phone. They still have about ten minutes. “Sure! What’s the fabric, by the way? Because if it’s tweed, it’s a _good thing_ that I’m coming with you. Last time they ruined my skirt, so I’ll gladly give them some clear instructions.”

“Uh.” Archie scratches the back of his head. “The fabric is green.” His lips pull up. Veronica bites hers even harder.

“Ok, Tim Gunn.” She jokes, and he lets out a bright laugh. “Let’s get moving.”

“Betty, are you not eating with us, sweetie?” Hal asks when she’s on her way out. Her dad is cutting fruit at the kitchen counter, an apron tied around his waist.

“I’m not hungry,” she says. He looks at her with concerned eyes, but Betty doesn’t have any time for that right now. “I had a smoothie earlier,” she lies. “Going for a run and then I don’t know.”

“Elizabeth.” Alice’s voice comes from the living room, where she’s sitting with a calculator and her reading glasses, going through bills. Betty rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. “Why, exactly, have you spent two thousand dollars this past week?”

“I needed new clothes and new material for the Register.” She tugs impatiently at her ponytail.

“You _bought_ new clothes already, Betty, just the other day.”

“Oh, my God, Mom. Let me be. You always wanted me to dress up more and now that I want new clothes you’re all over me. Aren’t we _high society_ , like you said the other day? Jesus, make up your mind.”

Betty ties up her running shoes and ignores her mother’s complaints as she walks out the door, slamming it behind her. Alice will probably try grounding her when she comes back, or whatever, but she doesn’t really care.

She sets off for the park, keeping a steady pace as she pushes herself with each stride. The past few weeks, running has felt like the right outlet for her — Veronica did mention at some point it helped to clear her mind, and Betty decided to try. It was a good idea. Maybe she should text V and tell her what a good idea it was; she’ll probably do that later. She hasn’t touched her phone today, it didn’t feel like a priority at all. Most of her morning was spent organizing things in her room.

Her feet take her another mile, passing a few meandering couples and children feeding the ducks.

Betty surges through the clearing, a straight shot to Reggie’s building. She’s been thinking of him more and more since their night out, and the other day in the library, and just yesterday when he gave her a ride home and she ended up on his lap, his hands slipping under her skirt.

She thought about him every day, now. A constant buzz in the back of her head. She couldn’t sleep last night and roamed her hands over her body, eyes closed imagining they were _his_ hands. But she didn’t allow herself to go too much further than that — she wanted the real deal. And, the thing is, she _could_ have the real deal.

Her feet guide her to his place as if they’re moving alone. There’s a crowd waiting by the elevator, so she smiles at the concierge and bolts into the stairwell, completing her sprint to Reggie’s floor.

Unzipping her sweatshirt, she brings a closed fist to his door and knocks three times.

It’s kind of thrilling, standing here waiting for him, a little out of breath and just _surprising_ him like this. He brings out a spontaneity she’s never really experienced.

The door swings open and on the other side stands a disheveled, yet very handsome, Reggie Mantle.

Everyone’s dream.

“Coop?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

She laughs at him, itching with the want to kiss him, and takes the two giant steps to launch herself into his arms. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, pressing her mouth on his and jumping so her legs are wrapped around his waist.

He easily opens his lips when she forces her tongue between them, his hands supporting her under her thighs. “Hm, you’re sweaty,” he says. Reggie is shirtless and warm and Betty feels her nipples peeking under her sports bra.

“Is that a problem?”

He smirks against her mouth. “Not at all.” He carries her inside the apartment, closing the door with his foot.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to get post-brunch ice cream,” Veronica says around a spoonful of her dark chocolate scoop. Archie laughs, biting on his plastic spoon.

They had a nice time at The Penrose, the place was a lot more casual than he expected for Hermione and Veronica. The waitress didn’t bat an eye when Veronica asked for two mimosas and a bunch of espresso shots in her coffee. They were treated like a couple by the staff, which got Archie not so strangely giddy inside. It was their first _actual_ outing alone in over a year, something that used to be such a routine thing for them.

Above all, it’s been _nice_ to be around Veronica again. Without loud music, or huge amounts of alcohol, or _heaviness_.

“C’mon, post-brunch ice cream is our tradition.” He bumps her shoulder with his lightly, as they walk side-by-side through Central Park.

It’s true. Before she left, before things got screwed up, every time they had brunch together as a group, they followed the same route along Fifth Avenue. Thornhill was always the first stop, dropping Cheryl off, followed by Reggie, then Betty, until only Archie and Veronica were left. He’d always walked her home, cutting through the park, the same way they’re taking now, and they’d always stopped for post-brunch ice cream.

He thinks he’d always proposed it to spend a little more time with her. The icy kiss she’d plant on his cheek when they got to the Pembrooke was always the highlight of his day.

“I’m not gonna lie, I missed New York in the spring,” Veronica comments as they walk down a path where several artists are assembling their stands, hoping to sell pictures or draw portraits for the bystanders. “The pretty days came way later in New Hampshire.”

“A year was a long time to be gone.” He wants to say something that’s probably stupid, like _I missed you in the spring too_ , but he decides to eat and let the ice cream melt in his mouth instead. He can keep those lines for a song. “Well, just in case you forgot, if we follow that bend we’ll end up at the John Lennon Memorial with all the tourists and the guys playing guitar singing _Imagine_.”

Veronica laughs in that way that always made him feel so funny, her shoulders shaking under her tan cape. “Speaking about guys with guitars… How’s your channel going?”

He feels himself smiling at Veronica’s constant support, ears warming in the chilly air. “It’s great. I still can’t believe how many subscribers there are,” he chuckles. “My friends in Brooklyn really helped with setting everything up and getting the word out.”

Veronica studies him, licking her lips clean of a drip of chocolate. “Are you still playing gigs?”

Archie nods at her. “Yeah, some of the girls work at the venues and managed to squeeze a song or two.”

She takes almost all that’s left of her ice cream on the tiny spoon. “And your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend?” He asks, taken aback, eyebrows knitting together. _Toni?_ He didn’t tell anyone about their brief affair, not even Reggie. Besides, they decided to be just friends and as far as Archie knows, she wasn’t featured in any blasts.

“Yeah,” she says, straightening her spine. “The girl who’s been all over the Blue and Gold. Pretty, green eyes, a lot of prints going on.”

“Valerie?” His frown deepens.

“Valerie!” She exclaims.

He doesn’t miss the way her lips form a tight line and his heart beats faster. He gets a little more braver than he probably should. “Hm. Are you jealous, Ronnie?”

She shoots him a glare, broken by the cracking smile on her lips. “ _Please_. You know I’m not the jealous type, Archiekins.”

His smile widens as she sticks her nose in the air. “Val isn’t my girlfriend. She’s actually helping me with songwriting… She’s really good at it. She teaches a workshop.”

“I see. Well, she is quite beautiful,” Veronica admits.

The bravery stays with him. “Maybe _I_ should be jealous then.”

Veronica closes a tiny fist and playfully hits him in his bicep, scowling at him with the hint of a smirk. “So, what time do you have to leave for Brooklyn, again?”

“I don’t.”

“In that case, you know what else is tradition?” She raises one pointy eyebrow at him. Archie presses his lips in a thin line, almost to control the silly smile. He has a feeling of what she’s going to say. “Boat racing.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

**_spotted:_ ** _a &v, two idiots in central park, racing their boats and our hearts. not to jinx it but… it looks like this ship might be sailing._

* * *

Betty’s mind is racing while she straddles Reggie’s lap, exploring his mouth with her tongue and ruffling his dark hair with her fingers. The way he touches her and _holds_ her makes her feel _different_ , bringing all the focus to the blood running through her body.

It’s certainly unlike the way boys usually handle her, like she’s too dainy to be broken. Reggie isn’t all that delicate, he digs his fingertips on her hip, and teeth on her lip, releasing a moan from her throat. She relishes on the way it all stings.

Sliding her hands across his chest and down his arms, Betty grips his wrists and guides them right under her chest. He holds her jaw, tilting her head to start kissing her neck, not really doing anything with his new hand placement — she _wants_ him to slide his hands up and touch her breasts, but he only rubs circles on her ribcage.

The memory of how shy she felt when Archie took off her shirt for the first time seems so distant. It’s like it happened to someone else. She feels bold and she wants this so much — she forgets that this once felt like a big deal and sits back on Reggie’s thighs, pulling the hem of her shirt up.

Reggie pushes her hands down, letting her shirt fall back into place. He touches her face gently and smiles a little, leaning in for another kiss.

It’s like a bucket of cold water poured over her head.

“Is something wrong?” She asks incredulously.

He pulls back, his eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t want me to take my shirt off?”

Reggie’s expression softens. He shakes his head slowly and tries to hold her face again, but Betty feels wounded, like someone pierced an arrow through her.

“Fuck you!” She pushes his hands away, moving off his lap, hands curling into fists.

“What’s going on with you?” Reggie lets out a frustrated breath. “I’m starting to worry, Coop. This isn’t _you._ ”

“And how the hell would you know that, huh?”

“Hey.” He stands up and tries to take a step back in her direction, but Betty takes it back, her chest suddenly tight. “I just think we’re going too fast, ok? I like you, and it’s all good, but I don’t want you to do something you’ll—”

She scoffs. “ _Too fast?_ For _you_?! What is it, Reggie? Am I not promiscuous enough? Not hot enough?” She throws her hands in the air as she reels on him. “Why is it that I am _always_ being rejected? By Archie, by you — not even Jughead wants me any more. If it were _Veronica_ here kissing you and trying to take her shirt off I’m sure it’d be totally different, right?”

He shakes his head again and tries to approach her, but all Betty sees is red. She can feel the flush of her cheeks and the rush of blood in her ears as she searches for her phone to leave.

“Wha— No, Betty, calm down. I don’t think—”

“I hate you!” She yells when he gets closer to her, slamming her hands on his chest and punching repeatedly. “I hate you, I fucking hate you, get _off me_!”

“Betty, you’re— You’re freaking out, you need to—”

She manages to push him away and leaves, as fast as she can.

“Today was definitely an unexpected turn of events,” Archie says with a smile lingering on his lips, one that Veronica has been trying to ignore the entire afternoon — but definitely not trying hard enough.

She steals a remaining fry from his plate. “What do you mean?”

“That when I left home this morning to drop off _dry cleaning_ I didn’t think I’d end up at a pub with _you_ trying to eat all my food.” He playfully pulls his plate out from her reach.

“Haha.” She mocks. “If today proves anything, Archibald, it’s my _superior_ boating skills. After all, you’re the one with this supposed knowledge of the sea.”

Veronica remembers Archie talking about his Grandpa Artie all the time when she first met him, the ex-sailor who showed him how to build a boat and would take him down to the naval shipyards as a boy.

“You _know_ you sabotaged me.” Archie narrows his eyes. Veronica can’t help but bite her lip — he’s just so handsome. The lighting in the pub tints everything in yellow and his eyes glow like pure gold. She joked around earlier, but she’s glad that the “girlfriend” isn’t, in fact, his girlfriend. She hates the idea that someone else could think about his eyes the same way she does.

After spending the afternoon strolling through the park, Veronica found herself not quite ready to say goodbye to Archie just yet. It’s been such a good day, and spending quality time with him — just him — hasn’t happened in such a long time. So instead, after they both admitted _not_ to have dinner plans, they exited onto the Upper West Side and into The Dead Poet for some food.

“If by sabotaging you mean kicking your ass, then yes I did.” Veronica tries to snap back from her crushed out state. “By the way, you owe me a drink.”

“I guess I do, don’t I? _But_ on the condition that I can choose it.” He laughs and waves to their bartender, who has definitely chosen to ignore their fake IDs.

Veronica giggles, watching in adoration as he orders himself another draught Guinness and looks over the menu one more time. “And an Ernest Hemingway for the lady, please.” He says.

She kinks an eyebrow at him, awaiting his explanation.

Archie’s ears turn a little pink. “I know you like his books,” he offers sheepishly. “And rum.”

“Now we’re talking.” Veronica looks down, trying to bite back her smile. Archie’s phone starts vibrating against the counter. She watches as he takes the incoming call.

“Sorry, Ronnie, it’s my dad. Just a sec,” he says, getting up to answer it.

She takes the opportunity to fish her _own_ phone out of her handbag and take a look at her notifications. Just like every other Saturday, there are a couple of texts and a call from Reggie that she decides not to return just yet, and some notifications in the Blue and Gold. She had already seen the blast they posted about her and Archie in the park — hence moving their evening to the other side of town to fly under the radar.

Mindlessly opening the Twitter app, she finds herself facing a new blast, about Cheryl and _Donna fucking Sweett_ being photographed in the same _Young Ladies who Lunch_ event this afternoon. They don’t seem to be _really_ interacting, but of course the Blue and Gold is suggesting otherwise, complete with _hashtag-chonna_.

Veronica heaves out a breath and rolls her eyes a little. She’s not giving this any of her time today. She throws her phone back in her bag as Archie comes back to his stool.

“Sorry, my dad just wanted to ask if I was staying at my m— hey, are you okay?” Archie stops his explanation midway, probably noticing something weird in her expression.

“Yeah. Just the Blue and Gold stirring the pot as always.”

“What? They spotted us here?” Archie looks around. Veronica ends up chuckling, because his expression is pure confusion.

“No. Something they posted about Cheryl,” she explains, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Oh.” Archie scratches the back of his head, not really looking at her. They are perhaps lucky that the bartender chooses this moment to bring their drinks, because it interrupts the awkwardness that inevitably settles around them. “So, uh… Are you guys really broken up?”

“Yes,” Veronica says, firmly, straightening her spine. “It meant… way more than I thought it would, but I don’t want to be with someone who’s going to make me backtrack in my progression. I came back to be a better person, and no one’s taking my focus out of this.”

He shakes his head, red hair falling in front of his eyes. “I know it’s important to you, Ronnie, but why do you keep insisting you’ve gotta change? To me, you’ve always been amazing.”

Veronica looks up at him, her heart leaping into her throat, hanging on to his words and the weight they may possibly carry. She gives him a tiny smile but feels incredibly shy once their eyes lock, so much she ends up greedily sipping her drink, keeping her mouth busy as to not say something she shouldn’t.

Archie clears his throat. “I have to say, though, that you and Cheryl together sounded really hot,” he says, quite seriously, but she can hear his amused undertones.

Veronica rolls her eyes and shoves his arm. “Shut up, Andrews.”

Archie laughs. “I’m serious!”

She laughs too, but feels herself flushing. She supposes it was, indeed, really hot, but she isn't sure how she feels about _him_ thinking that.

“Ok, Archiekins. I’m going to need something stronger than a Hemingway for this.”

* * *

_spotted: **#bettycooper** skipping up fifth with lots of new shopping bags. does anyone know the crowd she’s with? not sure about you, but we’re getting bling ring vibes. _

* * *

Betty feels free in abandon inside her brain as she dances to the loud music. She doesn’t really know how she got here but she _is_ here, wherever this is, her arms pumping in the air just like in the club some other time, something burning in her stomach.

It’s like she’s all alone underneath the strobing lights and every beat of the song means a new movement, a new feeling hitting her body — her pulse in sync with the rhythm. She’s so alive, electrified with all this energy. She’s more alive now than she was before, kissing Reggie in his flat, something that probably happened a thousand years ago.

But maybe it didn’t, she thinks suddenly, dropping her hands to her hair. She opens her eyes to look around — she’s on a table, way too close to the edge, and there’s a girl she doesn’t know rolling her body in front of her.

“Where’s Reggie?!” She shouts over the loud music to the girl, who ignores her and just keeps dancing with her eyes closed, lost to the beat. Betty searches through the sea of people — Reggie isn’t here, she reminds herself. She ran from his place and left him behind, he’s not here with her.

In fact, there’s _no one_ here she recognizes.

For some reason, this thought makes her feel uneasy. She braces herself on some stranger’s shoulder so she can get off the table. The stranger doesn’t mind, he just keeps jumping and screaming words to lyrics as if nothing else in the world matters. Betty tries to squeeze her way through the unknown place and the unknown faces, trying to get _somewhere_.

Her heart starts beating faster as she wanders, trying to understand exactly how she got here as she keeps pushing through the throng of people. There are just flashes in her memory: storming out of Reggie’s place, sprinting back into her house to get her credit card, some girl at Bendel’s saying she looked amazing in that dress, and _here_. This house. This music and all these people.

She can’t remember everything, and it’s like looking over some cliff into a dark abyss — she’s _scared_. She wants to get out of here but she doesn’t know the way out. She wants her mom. She wants her sister. Or Veronica — V could get her out of here. She would if she knew where to come.

But no one here knows Betty. Everyone is dancing with their eyes closed.

_Where’s Reggie? Where—_

“Girl, are you ok?” Someone asks, touching her shoulders. Betty shivers, she hates that someone’s touching her, but she doesn’t know how to explain that.

“I’m Betty,” she says, because someone needs to know.

“Ok, Betty, what did you take? I think you’re having a bad trip.” The girl holds her eye contact and gives her a calm, reassuring look.

She doesn’t remember taking anything. She just — except she did. There were pills. Someone gave them to her, and it seemed like a good idea to swallow them down. She doesn’t know. “I— my chest hurts. I don’t know.”

“You need some water and some weed.”

The girl starts pulling her through the crowd. Betty resists. “No, no, I want— Juggie, where’s Juggie?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. You should come with me, it’ll help, I promis—”

“NO!” Betty holds her head in her hands. She yelled loud enough but she doesn’t think anyone heard it. “No, no, I don’t wanna go, _no_!”

“Ok. Ok.” The girl lets Betty go and raises her hands. Betty feels tears in her eyes. She wants to say she’s sorry, she’s even more scared now that the girl stopped touching her. “Do you wanna leave? Is there someone who can pick you up here?”

Betty’s breath is erratic. She thinks about who's always saved her from places she didn't want to be at. “Arch. Archie, he—” She brings a hand to her chest. Her heart is beating way, _way_ too fast, it hurts so bad. She knows this isn’t normal and this realization just makes everything more horrifying. “I’m—”

She somehow manages to get her phone and unlock it with shaky hands. The girl takes it from her. Betty starts breathing in shallow gulps.

“Oh, _shit_. Ok, I’m gonna call this Archie. Ok, _guys_ , I need help here!”

It’s the last thing she hears before everything turns black.

“Ok, I have a good one.” The sound of Veronica’s laugh warms him from the inside, spreading all the way up to his cheeks and ears. “Never have I ever gotten baked before class and tried to explain Plato to the philosophy teacher.”

Archie snorts. “Not my brightest moment, but I blame Reggie,” he points at her, holding out his glass, “I never forgot what that cave thing was about, though.”

“Uh-huh. Drink up, Archiekins.”

Archie takes a long sip from his second — third — glass of Jack and Cola.

“My turn,” he announces with a smile. “Never have I ever snuck out in the middle of the night to go ice skating.”

He watches her laugh, playfully rolling her eyes and swigging her drink. “Betty and I were twelve and technically Smithers knew.” She shoots him a look beneath her long eyelashes. Archie holds his breath for a second. Today has been… He can’t even believe he and Veronica have spent _all day_ together, just the two of them. He never thought this would happen again. “Ok, never have I ever puked on Reggie’s shoes.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one.” Archie cracks up, taking a sip. “Remember how he was all like…”

“Italian leather!” They say together.

He watches Veronica double over in laughter at the memory, and it gets him feeling happy and light here in the pub. He can’t find anything smart to ask, too distracted by the way her hair is a little messy, because she ran her fingers through it so many times. She looks too fucking good. “Never have I ever… I don’t know, kissed a boy.”

“ _God_ , you’re so basic,” Veronica jokes, and drinks from her glass. “I don’t have to drink for every boy I ever kissed, right?”

“Ha! Very funny.”

Her smile is a little more _flirty_ when she looks at him, before turning her attention to the server and signaling for two refills.

“I know.” She clears her throat. “Never have I ever… Slept with a girl from Brooklyn.”

Veronica’s eyebrow is raised again and he feels bold from the liquor, letting it pour down his throat as he confirms her pointed question. She has wandering eyes when he looks at her again. Archie’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Veronica’s phone rings inside her bag one more time. It’d been going off in the distance for the past several minutes but they’d been ignoring it, definitely too lost in the easy atmosphere they created.

“Never have I ever kissed a redhead." He raised his eyebrows. " _And_ you have to drink for every redhead you’ve kissed.”

“Very well.” _Maybe_ her cheeks are a tone warmer when she takes two long sips from her drink. Archie feels something throbbing in his throat. “Never have I ever serenaded girls to woo them.”

He’s sure his face is on fire as she drills her eyes into him. The night has carried on around them, the bar filling up and the lights dimming somewhat for a darker ambience, but it feels like it’s just _them_ in this moment.

Archie takes a deliberate, small sip and smirks at her, even though he’s quite sure it comes across way more bashfully than intended.

“Only one girl.”

Veronica’s smile fades when she looks at him, staring into his eyes. Archie feels his own smile gone too. Because he’s not joking, not anymore, and she knows that. A part of him thinks she knew that before she even asked the question.

He doesn’t even mind, if that’s the case. If today has proven anything, it’s that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if he’ll get burned flying too close to the sun, if she’ll end him, if this is all going to go up in flames. It’s worth it. _She’s_ worth it.

There’s no time to talk himself out of it, feeling only the pull of her eyes as his body shifts near her. It’s been so long, _months_ , since he’s seen her features from this close. Her eyelashes flutter and her pink tongue swipes out to lick her bottom lip, pushing him just a bit farther.

His heart is galloping against his ribs, wondering if this _is_ happening, if they’ll even dare, when her phone starts ringing _again_ , breaking the moment with a violent shatter.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica pulls back, her breath all ragged. “This is the third time they’re calling, it could be my mom, I— hold that thought.”

Archie does hold it, right in the base of his pulsing throat as he watches her taking it from her bag.

“It’s Reggie. I don’t know why he’s been trying to reach out today…” She runs her thumb over the green button to answer the call. “Reginald, I swear that if— _what_?!”

Archie frowns at the shock on Veronica’s face. It all happens so fast and then it slows down, like they're underwater — her eyes fill up and her hand shakes.

“It’s Betty,” she says in a whimper. “She’s at the hospital.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😱😱😱😱 what now? What happened to Betty? What *is* happening to Betty? What would have happened if Reggie hadn't call? Why was Reggie the one to call Archie and Veronica? How's Jughead going to react when he learns? HOW ARE THE VARCHIES HOLDING ON? AND THE BUGHEADS? And the Cheronicas and Beggies?! Let us know!
> 
> We want to thank Vik's friend Livia for helping us with the symptoms of Betty's manic episode. We know she was written in a very odd way in here, but that was on purpose, and a lot will come from this. Never stop medication without going to the doctor first, kids.
> 
> Soundtrack hours!
> 
>   * Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Zero (start of the chapter)
>   * Dashboard Confessional - Don’t Wait (Archie’s song)
>   * Vampire Weekend - Campus (Jughead in the city)
>   * Far East Movement - Like a G6 (club!)
>   * BØrns - Electric Love, Oliver Remix (club part 2)
>   * Leighton Meester - Your Love’s a Drug (Beggie in the library)
>   * Harry Styles - Adore You (Varchie in Central Park)
>   * Crystal Castles - Alice Practice (Betty’s last scene... this song is haunting)
> 



	12. #deadoralive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Upper East Siders ✨ God, it's been literally 2 months, wtf. We blame the daylight saving time that screwed up our writing schedule since we live in different countries 😭 But all is well and we hope you're ready to dig in!
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately after the last one so if you don't remember how it ended, a reread is suggested! Thank you so much for the support and sticking by us. We're heading to the final leg of this fic but we are very excited to what's ahead 😉 As usual the reminder is that this is a **multicharacters** , **multiships** fic with heavy focus on character development and friendships, so! Have fun! 💋

**— do you know where your heart is?  
** **do you think you can find it? —**

_psst, hey upper east siders. we know it’s late, but the city never sleeps, and neither do we. so, how about a nightcap?_

_they say in life there are no accidents: sometimes reality comes crashing down on us. and, other times, it dawns on us slowly despite our best efforts to ignore it._

**_spotted: #varchie_ ** _out of a bar and into a car… all alone. if history is bound to repeat itself, where do we think they’re heading? and what does **#bettycooper** have to say about it?_

* * *

The Uber drops them off on 77th street, pulling through the familiar emergency entrance of Lenox Hill.

Veronica bolts out of the back seat, heels clicking across the pavement in a rush to get inside. She’s been rattling off things ever since they got the news, while Archie has resorted to panicking in silence, his still alcohol-dazed mind replaying everything that’s just happened — and _didn’t_ happen, but _could’ve_ happened.

They push through the doors and he watches her take control, breezing through the reception area until her eyes land on Reggie, head in his hands as he sits in the communal waiting room.

“Reggie,” she calls in an almost broken tone. “Hey.”

He lifts his gaze to the two of them and Archie can see how red his eyes are, face scrunched up. He stands, and Veronica is quick to get to him, throwing her arms around his neck in a comforting hug. Reggie’s face disappears into her hair.

Archie walks slower, approaching them a few seconds later to where Veronica is whispering things to the other boy, trying to calm him.

His adrenaline is still high but his legs feel tired now. It’s hard to believe that only fifteen minutes ago they were in a bar, playing _never have I ever_ and almost taking a leap of faith that was probably bigger than what they could afford taking.

Archie plops down in a chair next to the one Reggie previously occupied. They pull apart for a second, and Veronica keeps her hands on Reggie’s arms as he mutters.

“I didn’t know what to do. She was at some party, I wasn’t—this random girl called me and I headed over there, I didn’t want to get her in trouble, but she wasn’t awake, and I kept calling you guys—”

“What happened, Reggie? Where is she now?”

Veronica whips her head around as she scans the room for any clue. Her shoulders are trembling and he can see the way her jaw has tensed. Archie can’t see anything different in the waiting room — it’s just a hospital.

A hospital with Betty somewhere inside of it.

The idea makes his stomach churn.

“Her parents are here, I didn't even have time to talk to them before the doctor was taking them back. I tried to be helpful, filling out some of her medical forms but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking… I didn’t know, I thought…”

“Hey, you did the right thing. It’s going to be fine. We’re going to figure this out, ok?” Veronica hugs him again, hushing him in a calming voice, moving to rub circles on his back.

Archie tears his eyes away, fishing his phone out of his pocket if only to find anything to do with his empty hands. The next logical step is to call his dad and let him know where he’s at. They might need another adult around, no matter how grown up they act. Maybe his mom would be a better choice?

That’s when he sees them — a _bunch_ of notifications down his lockscreen, several missed calls from Betty’s phone, a few from Reggie himself. He hasn’t noticed any of them or listened to any of the three voicemails sitting there too, not since he put his phone on _do not disturb_ mode because he didn’t want anything interrupting his time with Veronica.

His hands tremble too, just like Reggie’s, fear of the worst taking over his nerves. Archie takes a deep, grounding breath and unlocks the screen. _Tell his dad._ That’s what he needs to do. Everything else, he’s going to have to worry about later.

Both Reggie and Veronica sit down next to him as he tentatively drafts a text to send Fred, something that won’t worry him _too much_ considering the time, and it’s a good five minutes until he comes up with something.

That’s when Veronica stands up, facing the boys with a resigned sigh and a hand on her hip.

“I can’t just sit here. I’m going to find out what happened, the Coopers will have to let me in there.” She announces.

Archie looks up at her and sees the tired determination, nearly hidden by her perfect makeup. When she turns around to leave, Reggie reaches out a hand to hold on to her wrist, eyes almost begging for her not to go.

Her expression softens as she holds on to Reggie’s hand. “Don’t worry. Archie will stay with you until I’m back.”

Veronica gives one meaningful look to Archie, even though she’s avoided any eye contact since they left the bar. Reggie looks at him too, and Archie offers him a small smile, as Ronnie’s heels click away from them in search of their other best friend.

The overhead, fluorescent lights of the corridors gives the hospital an eerie feeling. For a Saturday night, the clustered areas lined with chairs are fairly deserted. She scours several waiting rooms until she spots someone familiar, and her heart cracks at the heavy lines etched into Hal Cooper’s tired face.

“Mr. Cooper?” She barely recognizes her small voice, feeling like a child for the first time in a while.

His eyes meet her from the other side of the hallway, a sad smile in her direction. He looks up and down before walking closer, hands in his pockets. “Veronica,” he greets her. “Who told—” he starts questioning and then stops. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetie.”

“What happened?” Veronica feels her heartbeat picking up, mind running a million miles a minute as she thinks about every possible scenario as to why her best friend is in that hospital bed. “Where is she? Can we see her? Is she awake?”

Hal shakes his head and gestures to a smaller waiting area near the door he just exited, motioning to a seat. The last thing Veronica wants to do is sit down, but she begrudgingly does so, fiddling with her pearl bracelet.

“They’re running some tests. Betty is unconscious right now, but she’ll be ok, according to the doctor. Reginald called us… We don’t really know how she ended up here.” He heaves out a breath.

“Where’s Mrs. Cooper?” she asks tentatively, looking around, unsure if Alice would approve of her being here. Not that she cares. Her best friend is unconscious, she wouldn’t leave if Satan himself asked her to.

“I think she’s having it out with the doctors.” Hal chuckles and it manages to calm Veronica a little. “My wife nearly had a conniption when she saw how poorly fluffed Betty’s pillows were.”

The familiarity warms her a little more, heart still cracking when she sees how heavily his head hangs. Mr. Cooper had always been nice to her, welcoming her into their home and showing her the utmost kindness, especially when Hiram started withdrawing from her life. A doting father can be a hard thing to come by in the world they live in and Betty’s always lucky to have hers.

He pulls a hand down his face, appearing to ebb some of the stress away with the motion.

“Reggie mentioned a party when I passed him on the way in. Do you know anything about it?” Veronica’s throat hurts.

“We’re not sure of anything. They think—well, they _know_ there’s traces of ecstasy in her system, but we don’t how or why she ingested it. They hope Betty remembers once she wakes up.” He runs a hand back over his face, still looking and sounding exhausted. “It looks like she had a bad reaction to it. Her heartbeats increased and they—she was unconscious when they brought her in.”

The thought sends another series of chills down Veronica spine. No wonder Reggie was so scared. And _ecstasy_ , what the fuck? Veronica’s own heart starts beating fast against her ribcage.

A few nurses pass them, offering sympathetic smiles as they check charts, and as soon as they leave, he lets out a sigh.

She avoids looking at Hal for a moment. Veronica was pretty confident when she told Reggie everything was going to be ok with Betty, but the mere thought of this going any other way makes her feel like a kid with fidgety feet, twirling the ring on her pinky finger repeatedly.

 _Please, be ok,_ she pleads, biting the inside of her lip. “Do you mind if I stick around, Mr. Cooper?”

“Oh, no, honey. Not at all. You’re family, too.”

The air is chilly outside, but Archie is grateful for it when he briefly steps out to take a phone call from his father. Hospitals always get stuffy after a while and he welcomes the cool night against his cheeks.

“Hey kiddo,” Fred’s loving voice comes through the phone, “are you still there? Do you have any news?”

Archie shakes his head as if his dad could see him, and presses against his eyes with his fingertips. The alcohol has probably left his system completely by now, and a headache is starting to settle behind his eyes. “No news. Veronica left to find the Coopers but she hasn’t come back yet. Reggie is searching for coffee.”

“Ok. I’m going to tell your mother what’s going on, she already called me a couple of times.”

It’s probably best Fred calls her, as he is in no state to answer her incessant investigation right now. His lawyer of a mother rarely drops her line of questioning when something serious is going on and Archie really just needs to be here. “Thanks Dad. I’ll check in later,” he says distractedly. He hangs up after that, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Archie turns back around to the hospital and sees Reggie coming out the door, two paper cups steaming in his hands. Accepting the coffee handed to him by his friend, who’s still looking like he’s seen a ghost, Archie warms his hands with it and tries for conversation.

“Any sign of Ronnie?” Archie asks, taking a sip of his drink. It’s bitter and crappy, but it’s not like they have a better choice.

“No,” Reggie says, drinking too. He makes a face. “This tastes like shit.”

Archie chuckles. Reggie cracks a small smile too, but it soon fades, and he looks down again. It’s hard to see his friend so beaten — despite everything, Reggie is always hyped up, always finding the fun in any situation. Archie doesn’t really know what to do with the tiredness on his face; the roles here are rarely reversed.

“It’s good that you got to her, you know.” He takes another sip of his coffee, his mind running through the weeks since Cotillion. “You and Betty are getting closer,” he decides to mention. It’s just something he’s observed — the kiss in the club, or the day he saw her riding home with him. Jughead saying she made it clear they weren’t compatible comes into his mind.

The fact that Reggie was the one she could reach when in danger has to mean something.

Guilt stirs inside him. He’s been trying not to think about all the missed calls from Betty before Reggie finally got through. Would she even be in the hospital if he had paid any attention to his phone?

Reggie slowly shakes his head, eyes still downcast. “She hasn’t been herself lately,” is what he says after a beat. “Something happened at Cotillion and—” He runs a hand through his black hair. Archie frowns deeply. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone, but she was… Panicking. And bleeding. I think she was hurting herself.”

“What?” His heart picks up; coffee turning into pure sludge at the base of his throat, trickling down to his stomach like acid.

“I don’t know, man. I found her and she was losing it, she couldn’t breathe. I seriously thought it was just some bad trip, you know, mixing booze with her meds? I told her to quit them if that was the case…and I don’t know, after a while I think—I _know_ she’s not ok. When we were together earlier today she started freaking out and then—I don’t know how she ended up at that party with those people. I just…don’t know.”

“You told her to quit taking her meds?” Archie’s mouth hangs open as he tries to comprehend what Reggie is saying.

“Yeah.”

A bout of anger ripples through Archie, and he crumples the empty paper cup in his hand.

“What the fuck, Reg! Betty can’t go without her medication!”

“Dude.” Reggie blinks as if what he’s just said wasn’t clear. “Remember what happened with Ollie a few years back? He was having panic attacks because—”

“You can’t tell someone to quit their medication! What the hell! Do you even know what she’s been taking? Her dosage?” Archie feels himself spluttering, too mad to focus.

He remembers as if it was yesterday — last summer, when they were still very much together: Betty learning that her sister was _not_ in college like everyone thought she was. That she was actually taken into a facility upstate. He remembers Betty going to a plethora of clinics to get brain scans and other kinds of shit, remembers going with her to some of them and just…sitting there.

 _Waiting_.

The doctor started giving her meds. Betty couldn’t understand why, she felt fine, _I’m not Polly_. But she’d down the pills every morning, anyway. Archie didn’t even know if the meds made any difference. He never paid attention.

“You’re not a doctor, Reggie! That should’ve been your first clue.”

Reggie tosses his cup in a bin, a vein popping on his temple. “Look, Archie, I—“

“She could have died, Reggie!” He barely recognizes the roar of his own voice, seeing red as he yells on the street. “This isn’t one of your brother’s bad trips or having one too many drinks. You have no idea what could have happened! How can you be so fucking irresponsible? I _knew_ she wasn’t going to be safe around you.”

There’s a steady silence for a moment, before it ripples between them and Archie quickly feels the rising tension.

“You should go. You’ve done enough already,” Archie says, trying to level his breathing, throwing his paper cup out and running a hand through his hair. However, when he looks up to meet Reggie’s eyes, there’s something else there.

“ _I’ve_ done enough? Yeah, she _could_ have died. And she probably would have if I hadn’t found her unconscious in some house! The girl only called _me_ because _I_ was the one trying to reach out to her! Did you know who they tried calling first? _You_. Multiple times!” Reggie pokes at chest, shoving him slightly and it feels less playful than in the locker room before a game, angrier. “And _I_ called you too. But you couldn’t answer, could you? You couldn’t spare a single minute of your precious time with Veronica to help out your best friends.”

“It’s not like—”

But Reggie cuts off his feeble attempt to explain with the sharp shake of his head. “Nah. I’m done here. You make this show of always doing the right thing and being the good guy when really, you only think about yourself and I’m tired of it. After the shit you put her through, you _owed it_ to Betty to pick up the goddamn phone if she called, but no. You’re still ignoring everyone around you the minute Veronica finds sparetime to give you attention.”

Archie swallows down the bile rising up this throat, looking at the anger and betrayal painted across Reggie’s features. He’s wrong, that’s not how _any_ of this went. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not? I love Veronica too, as you _very well know_ , and not for one second have I forgotten about my friends.” Reggie’s lip is curled, resembling something like a snarl and Archie has never been the recipient of his temper like this.

There’s still a few feet of distance between them but Archie feels like he’s been slapped as Reggie turns to walk back inside, unable to formulate any of the millions of words racing through his mind.

It’s almost eight on Sunday morning when Veronica walks into their suite, completely spent from the long night at the hospital. Betty was asleep the entire time and Veronica only stayed because even Alice Cooper looked like she could use the company.

Her mother is already up, as she knew she’d be, and stands from the breakfast table immediately when she sees Veronica, worried creases on her face. “Oh cariño.” She comes to the door, holding Veronica against her collarbones. “Are you ok? Any news?”

Veronica closes her tired eyes, almost giving into the comfort of her mother’s embrace before shaking her head. “No news. She’s stable, though,” she says, pulling away. “I need to take a shower.”

“Ok. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Veronica nods even though she isn’t hungry and walks into her room to strip off yesterday’s clothes and move into the shower, letting the hot water wash over her.

As she scrubs her face, she reflects on the events from the last twenty-four hours. And last week. Her brain tries to recount everything back to Cotillion: Betty and Jughead’s sudden fallout, the way Betty was acting with obsessive cleaning and excessive shopping and _drinking_ , that night in the club when she and Reggie kissed.

Veronica really thought everything had been a reaction from whatever happened between Betty and Jughead, but who knows if there’s more behind it.

But _drugs_? Betty isn’t one to take _anything_ , she never did. She never even smoked weed. Very rarely, she’d get pretty drunk, just enough to unwind like the other night in the club, and even then it wasn't an amount to worry over.

Her body feels almost brittle, still exhausted, when she pads out to the dining room with damp hair, sitting in an upholstered chair across from her mom, who apparently ordered almond croissants and cappuccinos from room service instead of trying to cook.

“Thanks.” She smiles a little when her mom offers her a large cup with foaming milk. After one entire night of bitter, watered down hospital coffee, a cappuccino tastes like luxury. More than the shower did, its warmth seeps deep into her bones. Veronica takes her phone from the bag she quickly discarded upon arriving home, to check if there’s anything new in her messages.

Mr. Cooper said he’d call if anything changed. She never got to say goodbye to Archie or Reggie, but they haven’t tried to reach her either. Biting her lower lip, she decides to be the bigger person and sends Cheryl a text, warning her about Betty’s current state. Despite everything, they’re all supposed to be best friends and there’s no other way for the redhead girl to know what’s going on.

“Anything from the Coopers?” Hermione pries gently, running a soothing hand through the ends of her hair.

She shakes her head, mind still working fast through some details she might have missed. Reggie mentioned something about finding her at some party. What if whoever was at said party had given Betty the drugs? What if she was _forced_ to take them?

She must’ve been so scared.

Veronica makes it her mission to get to the bottom of it all.

“Does Jughead know what’s going on? It sounded like they were getting quite close.” Hermione offers softly.

“I don’t know,” she answers, eyes distantly scrolling through the messages she and Betty exchanged over the past few weeks. “I don’t know anything, Mom.”

She lets out a small wet sound.

“Honey. It’s ok,” Hermione pulls her closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Veronica feels a knot tying in her throat as she tries hard not to sob, tears pooling in her eyes as her breathing constricts. “Why don’t we try to talk to Jughead? Maybe he knows something. Maybe that’d make you feel better.”

She agrees, a slight nod of her head as she wipes at the unshed tears threatening to spill. “That’s a good idea.” Veronica’s not entirely sure the word has spread over the bridge yet but the delicate news should probably be relayed by her before he finds out from someone else.

And even if he and Betty are no longer together, she can’t help but think that Jughead may have more insight into anything leading up to last night than she originally thought.

Hermione makes one more effort to smooth Veronica’s hair, gently smiling at her before rising. “I’ll text FP and let him know. We’ll leave soon, hm?”

Jughead rubs his eyes as he walks down the stairs and finds his dad and sister starting breakfast without him. He feels grateful for not having to be at The Blend until the afternoon shift since he didn’t sleep all that well, an odd feeling making him toss and turn all night, like something he couldn’t pinpoint was just _wrong_.

His plans for the morning are as simple as they can be: stuff his belly with waffles and coffee and try to get back to bed for a nap before lunch and heading to the Upper East Side for work.

“Morning,” he wishes, playfully messing with Jellybean’s hair and getting her whining, while FP stands at the counter pouring a new batch of batter into their old-but-thriving waffle maker.

“Ouch! My hair, Jug!”

“If you wore a beanie like I do, it’d save you from things like this.” He chuckles, even though he’s not wearing his beanie on top of his messy bed hair _right now_. FP laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re not supposed to _laugh_ at me, Dad, I’m your little princess,” Jellybean says with an eye-roll.

“I think we all know that _I’m_ the little princess.” Jughead jokes, stealing a strawberry from Jellybean’s plate.

“You’d think so,” his little sister bites back quickly.

FP happily agrees and JB cracks up, and it all feels like a very easy morning despite the _odd_ feeling still tightening up Jughead’s chest. His smile fades before everyone else’s.

FP’s phone vibrates on the counter, causing him to spill some batter. He quickly wipes his hand on the dishcloth. Jellybean swings her legs from her place on the stool as they watch their father typing on his phone.

“Ooooo,” she coos mockingly.

Jughead shoots her an annoyed look. “What now?” he asks.

JB raises her eyebrows at him, teasing. “I’m betting it’s his girlfriend.” 

FP looks at them both, dish towel now slung over his shoulder. “That _was_ Mrs. Lodge—”

“Told you it’s his girlfriend.”

“—and she and Veronica are going to join us for breakfast.”

Jellybean continues her playful giggling, clearly not too upset about their father maybe, probably, most likely, dating again, while Jughead nearly spits out his black coffee.

“What?”

The doorbell rings and his head swivels to the door.

“Damn, that was fast.”

“JB, don’t say _damn_.” FP glares, and instructs her to keep an eye on the waffles as he leaves the kitchen to answer the door.

Jughead finally wipes up the last of his dripping coffee when he’s greeted with the Lodge women, breezing through his house and looking completely out of place.

“Good morning.” Hermione Lodge briefly touches his dad’s arm. “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”

Jughead doesn’t miss the way her hand slides to FP’s hand and how they squeeze each other's fingers for a second before letting go. “Yeah, anytime. Come in, girls.”

Veronica treads behind her mom, makeup and pearls in place like an armour. He hasn’t seen much of her since the hockey game, and it’s crazy to think how much has changed since January. There’s no longer anything binding them together and it’s still _weird_ to have her across the bridge, but there’s something in her eyes that gets him frowning.

“Here, Veronica.” FP offers her a mug. “Have some coffee.”

She shakes her head and Jughead notices a slight tremble of her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Jones, but I shouldn’t drink more caffeine this morning.”

“Maybe a glass of juice?” Her mother half-asks her daughter, half-tells FP, as she pushes Veronica’s hair off her shoulder in a tender touch.

“No, I’d rather just—”

“Veronica,” Jellybean interrupts with a grin on her face, “do you know how to make waffles?”

Veronica shakes her head, smiling briefly. “No, not yet, but perhaps you can teach me later. Jughead,” she turns to him, “can we speak privately?” She asks without much ceremony and it’s got his eyebrows rising up his forehead.

“Sure.”

He leads the way out the kitchen and up to his room — he doesn’t think they’d have a lot of privacy in the living room — and starts to worry more with every step they take. “Sorry for the mess, I still haven’t made my bed.”

Veronica doesn’t look like she’s noticing it or even minds, dropping her designer bag on his unmade bed and plopping down with her forehead in her hand.

“I—Betty is in the hospital.”

_“What?!”_

The odd feeling. The bad feeling — Jughead feels it crawling all over his skin, from head to toe, goosebumps breaking out all along his arms and neck. He knew. He _knew_ something was wrong, and he didn’t pay attention to it, he tried shaking it off all night. He wanted to text Betty and talk about it, but they don’t _talk_ anymore, and now he knows that he wouldn’t get a reply and—

“Something happened to her yesterday. Her dad told me there were drugs in her system, but…” Veronica holds her head in her hands. Jughead clutches at his own hair, unsure of what to do with his hands, his eyes burning as he waits for her to say more.

“Is she going to be ok?” He finally grits out. Veronica lets out a small sound. “Veronica, is she going to be ok?!”

She nods and sits up, trying to regain her composure. “Yeah.” She sniffs. “Yeah, she’s going to wake up at some point today, and they’re hoping she can remember what happened.”

Jughead sits beside her. He looks around his messy room and remembers that afternoon when he brought Betty here, the orange sunlight streaming through the curtains and making her green eyes gleam before he kissed her against the bookshelf.

He wants to see her. It almost strangles him, that will, but he knows it’s not going to be so easy with her mother there. And who knows if Betty would even _want_ to see him?

“Did—did she ever take anything before?” He asks with a broken voice. “Drugs.”

“No. No, not that I know of. A couple of drinks here and there but _drugs_ , no, they were always off-limits for her. She hated when any of us…” Veronica stops, sounding confused and tired. “But I was away from her for an entire year. What do I know?”

Jughead rubs his hands together in his lap, feeling the skin dry as paper. Compared to Veronica he knows _even less_ , virtually nothing about who Betty is and what she’s done _before_ , but he always thought…he always _felt_ like she was her real self around him. The way she spoke and moved and the way her eyes lit up while eating pizza and discussing true crime. Even after what happened during Cotillion, he still has a hard time thinking she’d ever be as wild as her friends.

But he’s read it all wrong so far, maybe he got _that_ wrong too.

“I’m…I keep thinking,” Veronica says, hesitantly, “that maybe someone did this to her. You know? Slipped something in her drink or—”

Something crosses Jughead’s mind. “Wait a minute,” he frowns, and stands up, looking around for his phone. “Did you see the last Blue and Gold blast about her?”

Veronica sits up straighter, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “No. No, I haven’t checked the Blue and Gold at all since—”

“There were some pictures,” he manages to find his discarded phone buried under his rumpled sheets. “Betty was spotted with some strangers at Saks. I—I noticed because I didn’t know them, but I thought…” He sighs, opening the Twitter app to show Veronica the post he’s referring to. He was jealous and feeling stupid and ridiculous when he’d seen the thread before, but now… “Do you recognize anyone?”

Veronica frowns as she scrolls down the series of shots published with Betty in them. He can hear the captions as she moves from one picture to the nest — _Betty strutting through Saks_ and _Skipping up Fifth._ He watches expectantly as Veronica zooms in on some of them, her frown deepens at the magnified images. “No. No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them. These were posted yesterday?”

“Yeah. In the afternoon.” Jughead looks up at her, and it’s kind of a relief to see the same questions reflecting on her face. He also avoids working Veronica’s most recent _spotted_ into the conversation, another silent allegiance they’ve formed for the sake of the Greater Good. “Do you think—maybe they’re involved?”

“I think it’s worth a shot.” Her jaw clenches. There’s a glint in her brown eyes that Jughead has never seen before, some sort of quiet _anger,_ a flicker of the former queen revealing herself. “If one of those asshats did something to my best friend, it’s the last thing they’ll ever do on this Earth.”

Jughead nods, understanding, the corner of his lip tugging up. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll find out who they are,” he says confidently. “Then we’ll reconvene for phase two.”

* * *

_happiest of sundays, beloved followers. what’s the good word? our faves have been MIA, and there’s no kick to the hot sauce in our bloody marys. where’s the spice?_

_any insight of what happened to **#varchie**? any trace of queen **#cherylblossom**? any intel on the unknown crowd **#bettycooper** befriended yesterday? any decreet from king **#reggiemantle**? send it to the **@blueandgold** if you know what’s good. _

_the people are hungry. and you know what they say: if there’s no bread, let them drink tea._

* * *

Mary insists that he eats dinner, but Archie only picks at his food. He doesn’t feel hungry, just like he didn’t feel tired all night, even though he made a point to stay in bed until mid-afternoon so no one would talk to him.

The only messages in his phone are from the team group chat — just some stupid memes between the guys. He’s stopped checking them. Neither Reggie nor Veronica contacted him after he left the hospital, and despite thinking about a solution as he tossed and turned, there’s nothing he can do about Reggie’s feelings. He doesn’t really feel like apologizing to him, wouldn’t even know what to say. _Yes, sorry I ignored how you felt these past few months?_

He’s also a little thrown by Veronica’s silence after everything that went down the night before, but she’s probably exhausted from staying glued to Betty’s hospital bed all night. She’ll come around to talk to him at some point, so he’ll wait, the way it always goes.

The only thing he _can_ do now is man up and go back to Lenox Hill and perhaps face them both _and Betty_ all at once. It’s so fucked up, anyway.

Archie stops by a flower bodega on 72nd Street and pays for a bouquet filled with yellow flowers, heading for the hospital before visiting hours are over.

He goes through a bit of trouble, finding the right room and talking to the right people, but once he does he’s greeted by Hal Cooper, who’s zipping up his windbreaker and ushering his wife down the hallway.

“Archie!” he says, pulling him into a fatherly hug. “Good to see you, son.”

Alice hugs him too, a little tighter than expected. Last time Archie hugged them like this they were considered his future in-laws. It’s a weird feeling, to be greeted with the trademark vanilla scent in Alice’s hair, after such a long time.

“We’re leaving to head home for the night because we’ve been here since yesterday, but I feel better knowing you’re here now,” Hal says. “I’m thinking Betty is still awake.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”

“Can you please call us if anything happens?” Alice pleads, looking somewhat defeated behind the bright colors of her makeup and clothes.

“Of course, Mrs. Cooper.” Archie offers the nod of his head in understanding at his ex-girlfriend’s parents, probably looking like an idiot with this bouquet in hand.

He watches them go before walking down the wing where Betty’s room is. He knocks softly, gently pushing on the door and peeking his head in.

Betty’s body is turned, facing the window and he smiles knowing she’s awake. _She’s ok_ and she’s awake.

“Hey.” He announces himself quietly so he doesn’t startle her.

Her ponytail is low today, still whipping when her head turns and she matches his sad, tentative smile. “Arch.”

He knows her signs, watching as her eyes well up and her pink lip trembles, walking forward to try and cheer her up with the flowers. When she smiles a little wider, he moves to set the vase down on her bedside table, spotting a huge bouquet of pink roses, topped with _xoxo, cheryl!_

“Of course, Cheryl’s are _bigger_ but…” Laughter bubbles up inside her and he’s happy she found it funny.

“Thank you. I love yellow.”

He knows — weirdly because of _Veronica_ , who’d often buy flowers for Betty with yellow petals and gush about how it was the color of friendship.

Betty motions to the chair next to her bed, offering him to sit. He takes it, unbuttoning his coat and slinging it over the back. He has so many questions he wants to ask her, knowing now is probably not the moment she wants to rehash everything.

“Has anyone come to see you yet?” he asks, only now realizing that contrary to his previous expectations, Reggie and Veronica are _not_ around.

She shakes her head, looking all sorts of defeated with tubes hooked up to her arms and her heartbeat visible on the monitor next to her bed. “Just my parents for now. I had to fight them to go home and get some rest.”

“They looked exhausted. I—I came yesterday but—I had to leave. My mom asked me to,” he half-lies, and feels shitty about it, but she doesn’t have to know what really happened. “You…you scared us.”

He can see the guilt welling in her eyes, flicking around the room before speaking. “I...I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.” Her fists ball up briefly, before she smooths out the blanket.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, Betty.” He reaches out to hold her hand so she doesn’t curl her fist. “But…Reggie mentioned that you might have stopped taking your meds and—”

“I wanted—everything was _wrong_ , Arch. Everything was falling apart and I was feeling so much pain all the time and I didn’t think—I thought the meds were bringing me down and somehow it’s like...when I stopped them I felt like this superpower version of myself that I can’t explain and I just woke up here. I don’t know how I ended up here. The doctors said it might come back once I’m awake for longer, but...”

“You were at a party and I’m guessing you had a panic attack,” he tries to explain what he still doesn’t understand. Betty nods. She doesn’t sound surprised — her parents probably fed her some version of this — but she’s still inquiring with her eyes. “Reggie found you. You—or someone, tried calling me first.” He sniffs, letting go of his hand to rub his nose, eyes prickling. “I didn’t see the calls.”

Her green eyes are sympathetic, the worried lines of her face softening with a soft tilt of her head. “Arch, don’t—”

“This is a mess, Betty. I—I felt like something was off with you this past couple of weeks and I should’ve paid more attention, I should’ve _noticed_ and _talked_ to you.”

But he was lost in Veronica’s haze — lost in the feeling of his swelling chest after Cotillion and the telling curve of her red smile filling him with _something_. But the haze, no matter how wonderful, clearly clouded his head. He’d been so wrapped up in her, taking advantage of being _alone_ with her and feeling like she was letting him in again, his deep conversation with Reggie about Veronica never even surfaced. It’s tough to swallow the truth behind his friend's accusations at the hospital.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you called. I was a shitty boyfriend and now I’m also a shitty friend to my _oldest_ and—”

She reaches out for his hand. “Please, don’t do this. I’m—whatever is wrong with me, is for me to fix it. Not you.”

“I want to help. I don’t want to mess up anymore, I’m _tired_ of messing everything up. I promise I’m not going to leave you hanging again, and that you can count on me for whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Betty squeezes his fingers, and they look at each with the understanding only a decade of familiarity can provide. Archie smiles softly when she does the same. “And thank you for not bringing your guitar—it’s depressing enough without one of Archie Andrews’s originals.”

Archie opens his mouth, falsely offended. “You said they were great!” He jokes. He knows she’s trying to lighten up the mood.

Betty shakes her shoulders as she giggles. “They _are_ great, but boy don’t you need some therapy.”

Archie rolls his eyes, letting go of her hand to cross his arms in front of his chest. “Pot, kettle.”

After returning from the Joneses, and staying for a light lunch her mom practically _forced_ her to eat, Veronica decides to lie down for exactly fifteen minutes before she gets up again and goes back to the hospital.

There’s a headache forming behind her eyes and her brain is still on overdrive trying to understand everything that happened in the last thirty-six hours, accepting she may never rest again without a sleeping pill — but they don’t keep any around her mother anymore, so she’s probably going to become an insomniac.

She can’t believe this all happened, and so fast, she can’t believe she was probably about to _kiss_ Archie when Reggie called. Was it a sign from fate, the fact that Betty probably got _drugged_ while they were together? Was God punishing them for being _near_ each other again and—

—and when she opens her eyes, it’s dawn.

She takes a moment to recognize her surroundings, a different kind of hangover taking over. Reaching for her phone, she sees it’s almost five in the morning, twelve hours after she was meant to wake back up. Though it was probably needed after pulling an all-nighter at the hospital. _Damn it._

Around dinner time yesterday, Hal Cooper sent her a message relaying Betty was awake and well, which lifts some weight off her chest. She lets out a long held breath. Reggie reached out too, just a quick **_thank u for yesterday_** and his signature black heart emoji. She answers immediately with one of the same color, despite the early hour.

Veronica gets up and goes for a run in the park to boost her energy and clear her head. After showering and eating a huge açaí bowl, she writes a note to her mom — who hasn’t woken up yet — to let her know she’s going to visit Betty before school (and most likely not go to school, but she doesn’t tell her mom _that_ ).

Andre takes her first to the florist on Lexington, waiting in the car as she picks up a beautiful arrangement of yellow roses. She passes by the counter, seeing a display of newspapers and crossword puzzles, smiling as she picks up the latter for her best friend.

He drops her at the entrance and she walks with confidence to the wing where she knows Betty is staying.

It’s a more reasonable hour now, so she shoots off a text to Jughead, **_i’m heading in to see betty. may stop by the blend later_ , **wondering if there’s been any progress to what they agreed on doing together at his house: find out whoever was involved with this, and _ending_ them if needed.

She bites her lip when her gaze lands on Archie’s name in her messaging app. The last thing he sent her was even before the Saturday they spent together, thanking her for helping get him home safely when they got drunk in the club and a blue heart emoji. She focuses on that blue heart and inhales, holding in the air as she types.

**_good morning, archiekins. i’m so sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk again. i’m going to see b now, but maybe later?_ **

She debates whether to follow up the message with a lip print or a heart or _both_ or nothing. Feeling stupid, she settles for the lip print and hits send before she changes her mind, letting the air out slowly.

Veronica puts her phone back in her bag and strolls up to Betty’s room door, pushing it open.

The wind is nearly knocked out of her at the sight she stumbles upon in the dimly lit hospital room. Betty is sound asleep in her polka dot gown, while another figure is sprawled haphazardly in the chair beside her bed.

 _Archie’s_ head is cocked to his shoulder and she can hear the heaviness of his breathing from here.

Unsure of how to handle the situation — causing a scene or retreating to the hall — she shifts everything onto her left arm and slams the door heavily with her right, a sour taste in her mouth.

She should’ve punctuated that dumb message with a _clown_ emoji, apparently.

The sharp slam of the door has him jumping slightly, but it _is_ satisfying to see the redhead jerk upright. She can tell he’s disoriented, wild eyes darting around the hospital room and landing on her in what appears to be disbelief.

“Ronnie? What—”

“It’s seven-twenty,” she tells him, pursing her lips. “You’re gonna be late for school.”

Archie rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm and suppresses a yawn. “Shit, I must have fallen asleep,” he brilliantly concludes, and she hates how adorable his sleepy face looks.

“I can see that.” She notices the flowers on Betty’s nightstand, a big pink bouquet and a smaller yellow one. Biting the inside of her lip, she clutches her own arrangement a little tighter. “Did you stay here all night?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his messy red hair. “Her parents left and they were kind of worried, so I figured…”

They both glance at Betty, who’s _still_ asleep, looking angelic, bare face and blonde hair dozing against the white sheets. Veronica feels a pang of remorse on her chest — she shouldn’t feel _jealous_.

“I texted you.” She breathes out, looking at Archie who’s standing now, hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets. “Just now. Saying good morning.”

“Oh.” There’s a flush coloring his cheekbones. “Good morning.” He lets out a sheepish, breathy chuckle, but he soon avoids her eyes. “I—I need to go but we should—”

“Yeah. We can talk later.”

“Ok.” He scratches the back of his head and then looks back at her in a lingering stare. He takes a step forward and Veronica holds her breath, wondering if he’s going to lean in to kiss her cheek, but Archie just sighs. “See you later, Ronnie.”

He leaves the room without looking back at her. She exhales and leaves the bouquet next to the smaller yellow one, looking back at Betty. There’s a swell of emotion in her chest and she wills it away, putting her things on the table and sitting down in Archie’s abandoned _and still warm_ chair.

She pulls out the glossy fashion magazine she brought for herself and tries to get comfortable, waiting for Betty to wake.

There’s a few raps against her door on Monday, pulling her attention away from the words she’d been reading. It’s been a busy day so far and she’s been buried in paperwork since she stepped into the office, huffing at all the extra contracts that seem to have magically appeared over the weekend.

“Come in,” Hermione says loudly, adjusting her glasses and not taking her eyes off the computer screen.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you haven’t taken a break for lunch yet.”

Hermione looks up, smiling at the sight of FP Jones walking into her office, wearing a flannel shirt. She pulls off her glasses and re-crosses her legs. “It looks like you’re right,” she says, checking the Rolex on her wrist and realizing that the morning turned into afternoon, even though she’s not really hungry.

“That happens every now and then, yeah,” he says with the usual charming grin, pulling a chair to sit on. “Jellybean said that _salad bars_ are all the rage right now.” He makes a face for dramatic effect. “She sent me a few places to check out and they’re all weirdly close to here.”

Hermione smiles, thinking about his younger daughter at the breakfast table yesterday. Despite the circumstances, it was nice to spend the morning with him and all of their kids together, some bizarre _what could have been_ feelings as she watched the three raven-haired teens sharing plates of the Jones’ special waffle batter.

It transported her back to other mornings in that very same house that he inherited from his father, before everything changed and Hiram walked into her life.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say she purposely put me right in your neighborhood,” he jokes, reaching out to take a paperweight in his hand and examining it, avoiding eye contact like he did sometimes when they were younger.

Hermione crosses her arms in front of her chest, shooting him a flirty smile despite herself. “If _I_ didn’t know better, I’d say you are using your daughter’s concern about your nutrition to get me to have lunch with you.”

He glances up at her, smirking a little. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Breakfast yesterday, lunch today…” she twirls a strand of her own black hair around her finger.

“Dinner tomorrow, if you want. And then breakfast again after that.” He quirks an eyebrow, chocolate gaze piercing into her.

The smirk on his face widens and it’s got his dimples on full display under the light scruff on his face, reminding her of a reckless teen that got her blood pounding.

Her gaze shifts from his as she resettles in her chair. “I don’t know FP, _that_ sounds an awful lot like dating.” She keeps her tone light, wanting to maintain the playful banter before they cross any lines.

FP puts the paperweight back on the table, leaving his hand there, extended with his palm down, just a few inches from where _her_ hand is. “Yes,” he says, way too honestly. His voice drops an octave lower and so serious it makes her hold her breath. “It’s where I’m hoping all of this is heading. Us, again.”

Hermione flinches a little. It suddenly feels _too fast._ Not unlike all those years before when they were barely teenagers and he was leaning in for a kiss in the garage — it took her some seconds to react and she shoved his chest, complaining _FP! You were gonna kiss me!,_ something he denied for an entire year until _she_ was the one kissing him.

 _Yes, I was going to kiss you,_ he sounded very much just like right now, so sure. _It’s us._

Her breathing hitches and she’s overcome with something that feels a lot like _fear_. Being friends and counting on each other again has been so nice and so _important_ for her recovery and things falling back into place, but— what if turning it into something more ruined it? What if it didn’t work? Could she afford losing him _again_? Could _he_ afford it?

“FP.” She recoils her hand. “Things aren’t that easy.”

He winces, visibly shutting down in front of her with a scoff. “Why not? We already spend all of our free time together. You text me every single day to say good morning.” He motions to the open space between them. “My kids know. They like you and they’re more than willing to welcome you and Veronica in our house.”

“You’re my oldest friend, Jones,” she says it with all the sincerity she can muster but watches her words hit him.

“No, no, don’t come at me with this talk.” FP pulls back, shaking his head. “I may have been dumb in many ways but I’ve never misread you, Gomez. I know all of your signs.”

Hermione tosses her hands, unable to convey herself properly, always frustrated with his stubbornness. “You’re helping me, FP. I wouldn’t have been able to go through _any_ of this without you and I’m so grateful and—”

“This is bullshit.”

He suddenly gets up, chair screeching against the wooden floor. He runs a hand through his hair, that lock always managing to fall from the slick back way he used to comb it.

Hermione doesn’t know what to say, but it’s _so_ like him to come barreling in to lay things on her without giving her any time to process them.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again after twenty years.” He turns around, about to leave, and Hermione has absolutely no intention of making him stay when he stops at the door. “Do you still love him? Is that the problem? Or are you just scared, _again_?”

She feels herself deflate, out of energy to keep this going when he’s missed the point entirely. “I think you should go.”

His eyes draw back to the door as he grips the frame. “Yeah. I think that too.”

Betty wakes up with a start, as if trying to claw her way out of a dream she has no recollection of once opening her eyes. Her heart has been beating at a higher pace ever since she first woke up in this hospital room — _yesterday?_ It feels like her hands are permanently shaky although she feels warm. It’s like there’s something crawling under her skin.

The doctor said it was a normal feeling for someone who overdosed. _Overdosed._

She looks to her side, at the chair Archie was occupying last night, if only to ground herself, and is overcome with emotion when she sees that it’s not the redheaded boy there, but her beautiful best friend.

“V,” she calls with a weak voice, reaching out a hand.

Veronica looks up from the magazine she’s reading. “B! Oh my God, you’re awake!” She tosses the magazine to the side and gets up, ignoring Betty’s hand but pulling her into a hug.

Betty closes her pricking eyes when she hides her face in the crook of Veronica’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Hi.”

“You are not allowed to do this, do you hear me? I was _so_ worried.” Veronica says in a strangled voice. Betty nods, and they’re both tearing up when she pulls away. It makes them smile simultaneously. “What happened?”

Veronica smoothes her hair as Betty shakes her head. “I don’t really know. I—” she takes a deep breath. “I was at this party. It’s all I remember. They said I OD’d with ecstasy, but everything is still so blurry.”

“B, _why_ were you at a party with all those random people? Did you even know who they were?” There’s a softness in Veronica’s voice, matching the way she soothingly strokes her hair.

Betty shrugs, pulling the covers closer to her body, shame taking over her. She really _wants_ to tell Veronica everything — about what’s wrong, Polly, the panic attacks, the lithium that she stopped taking — although Alice was adamant yesterday before Archie arrived, telling her their family issues are not to be discussed with anyone outside the family. Betty is so tired of pretending nothing is happening. However, the notion that Veronica could get upset with her for hiding it for so long scares her a little.

“I don’t remember. I don’t know. Listen,” she starts, hoping to at least begin explaining what’s going on, when a nurse comes in — probably a sign that this conversation should happen some other time.

Veronica retreats to the chair while the nurse tends to her, speaking in a sweet voice and making her drink water. Apparently, Betty woke up too late and missed breakfast, but lunch would come right up.

She doesn’t feel hungry at all.

“I… I told Jughead that you’re here,” Veronica says while the nurse is checking her vitals. Betty’s eyebrows shoot up and she can hear the increase of her heartbeats through the machine next to her. “I know you guys aren’t in the best place but… I felt like he should know.”

Betty smiles briefly at the nurse, who is definitely not paying a lot of attention to their teenage drama. She wonders if Jughead is going to come and visit her, or if he’d send flowers. Probably not, it doesn’t feel like his style at all. She thinks she would cry if she inhaled his scent right now — it’s probably for the best if he keeps some distance. “Yeah, me missing some days is going to affect the paper so it’s a good thing that you warned him,” she says, feeling a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I think the paper is the last thing he’s worried about, B,” Veronica says in a soft voice. “But it’s ok, I know you and Reggie have something going on now, I just thought—”

“It’s fine. Thank you for telling him. I know you guys aren’t close,” she says. Veronica opens her mouth but the nurse speaks first, about replacing Betty’s IV and saline drip bag. Betty hasn’t stopped to think about _Reggie_ either, and of all her fuzzy memories from the past days, making out with him and then an embarrassing fight in his apartment is one of the most vivid.

“We’re all worried about you,” Veronica mutters once the nurse leaves, reaching out to hold Betty’s hand. She feels the cold metal of the ring on her pinky. “You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s going to be ok.” She holds Veronica’s hand tighter. There is a lot to say and sort it out once she’s out of this room, and Betty doesn’t want to scare anyone even more, but she also knows that this can’t happen again. And between Archie, Jughead, and Reggie, she’s just glad for one thing. “You’re here. I’m gonna be ok.”

Jughead takes the payment from their current customer, smiling as Fangs makes a comment before crafting their pretentious drink order. Tuesday afternoons are generally slow at The Blend, which makes him grateful for the quiet but disheartened at the lack of tips.

As the small line clears, he moves to wipe down the counter and rearrange the fixings on the to-go bar, when the door chimes, bringing in a stream of afternoon sun and a hit of the still chilly spring air.

“Jones,” Veronica Lodge greets with an air of confidence. He knew she’d come today — he texted her telling her to do so, since the snooping finally got him somewhere ( _thanks, Blue and Gold_ ) with the people possibly behind Betty’s incident.

Jughead is about to greet back but straightens up like a board when he sees a reluctant jock toting behind her.

“Well, well,” Fangs snickers over his shoulder. “Hot customers mean high quality eye candy for me today.”

Jughead shrugs him off, wondering why the fuck _Reggie Mantle_ , of all people, is here with Veronica.

“Lodge,” he says sullenly at the same time Fangs sings out, “Hey beautiful. Good to see you again.”

Jughead doesn’t miss the way Reggie sizes up his co-worker as Veronica rolls her eyes in jest. “Good to see you too,” _Reggie_ responds, causing Fangs’ eyebrows to raise and Veronica to chuckle lightly.

“I’ll take a triple espresso macchiato and Reggie an americano.” She instructs. When her eyes meet Jughead’s, it’s clear that she’s eager to talk to him in private.

“So the lady does the ordering, eh?” Fangs asks Reggie, who narrows his eyes at first but then smirks.

“Well—”

“Just make their coffee, Fangs.” Jughead bites, annoyance causing his stomach to growl. Just to think that any of those smirks were ever directed at Betty makes him want to pour hot coffee over Mantle’s shiny head.

“Chill, dude,” Fangs says, but soon is out of earshot, working on the espresso drinks.

“Alright,” Veronica starts off like a business transaction, eyeing his facial expression. “You said you made progress.”

Jughead snorts. “That’s correct. But I’m confused as to why your bodyguard has to be in attendance.”

Reggie scowls, about to retort, when Veronica pulls on his jacket, essentially causing him to _heel._

“Reginald is here because he’ll be able to confirm your findings. He did meet the girl briefly since he was the one who got Betty out of there.” She raises an eyebrow, challenging him to make this more difficult.

Jughead doesn’t like it but there’s some semblance of gratitude that _someone_ got Betty out of there. Even if it was Reggie Mantle. Even if that meant she was getting closer and closer to him as they were drifting apart.

“Fangs, I’m taking five.” He announces when his co-worker returns with two steaming cups.

They sit huddled around a small table in the cafe, located in a corner.

Jughead pulls out his phone and slides it over the wood, showing them the picture that he retrieved. “Is this her?” It’s all he asks Reggie, but the boy offers him a skeptical glance before focusing on the image.

“Yeah. That’s her.”

“Apparently, she’s a Junior at St. Bernard’s. Ethel Muggs.” Jughead continues, and opens the Instagram page he had previously found. “Ring any bells?”

She frowns, taking a good look on Ethel’s profile. “Definitely not anyone from St. Bernard’s we know.”

“West side crackheads.” Reggie makes a face, also looking down at Jughead’s phone. “What the hell was Coop even doing with this crew.”

A notification pings and Jughead reaches out to get his phone back. “Charity, most likely,” he remarks. Mantle frowns in a way that makes him look like Archie a little, and Veronica rolls her eyes again at his saltiness. “Ok. So, St. Bernard’s. Any way we can meet this girl and ask some questions?”

Veronica taps her chin thoughtfully, setting down her coffee. “As a matter of fact, yes. There’s a way.”

* * *

 **_spotted:_ ** _**#reggiemantle** , **#veronica lodge** and... **#jugheadjones** exiting the blend. talk about an unexpected trio. dark roast, everyone? but we hear it’s not the caffeine that’s got them talking a mile a minute. it’s a mission._

* * *

On Tuesday afternoon, the hospital releases Betty.

Walking through the door, she sees her dad bought a cake and decorated the stairs in their townhouse with pink balloons and a _Welcome Home_ banner. It’s a sweet gesture, but not much of a party — she eats a single slice of vanilla cake with a glass of milk before her mom ushers her to her room, saying she should rest.

They haven’t talked about what happened. Besides a brief discussion with hushed voices in the hospital, her mom is really bringing her home after an _overdose_ and pretending everything is fine.

 _We need to make peace with what happened_ , was the conclusion Alice reached.

Betty feels drained and restless all at once. There’s no way to find any peace if there aren’t _answers_. Her sister is schizophrenic and something was definitely wrong with _her_ since she was found unconscious at some party with strangers. It seems impossible that everything her mom wants is to keep sweeping things under the proverbial rug.

She lies on her bed for a while with her eyes glued to the ceiling. How can she even begin to _understand_ where she ended up? Her last absolutely clear memory seems so far away — actually Cotillion, hugging Jughead tight when he showed up, and when she had breakfast with Reggie the next morning. Everything since then seemed overlapping and confusing, and it’s definitely not a coincidence that it got like this once she stopped the lithium.

There are a million things to review that could help her find some answers — pictures, family home movies, even memories that would lead her to any clues about what’s happened. There are also several things she needs to let out, like confiding in Veronica, confronting her mother, and contacting Polly. Her lists are endless but it all takes a backseat when her door is pushed open without a knock.

“How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? The doctor said that your head could hurt,” Alice says somewhat robotically, bustling into the room before stopping to busy herself with the neat items on Betty’s desk.

“I feel fine.” Betty sits up. She looks at her nightstand, where the half-empty lithium bottle is, all the pills she didn’t take but flushed instead coming back to haunt her. “Mom, we need to talk about all of this.”

“Elizabeth. So, you slipped and took something at a party. While it’s not outstanding behavior, it was just a matter of time since you became friends with Veronica Lodge, Cheryl Blossom, and other girls who often indulge in this kind of—”

Betty scrunches up her face in frustration. “That’s not why this happened. It’s not because of Veronica or Cheryl. I don’t even remember _why_ I went to that party. I wasn’t feeling right. None of this has ever felt right and I thought that if I stopped taking the meds, I’d be free from myself for the first time in… I don’t even know when. They made me panic and I never even understood _why_ I had to take them. I’m confused, Mom. I’m scared. We can’t keep ignoring this.”

Her mom’s features soften and there’s a flicker of compassion in her eyes.

Sitting on her bed, Betty wields the courage to ask what’s been on her mind for so long. “Why do I have to take lithium, Mom? Am I schizophrenic like Polly?”

Alice shifts on the edge, gaze drifting to her daughter’s face. “At first, the doctor thought you were. We _knew_ something was wrong given… your energy levels. Your mood swings. You and Polly always had a similar behavior, so when she—when she went through what she went through, I didn’t… One day I saw the blood on your hands and sheets and I didn’t want you to go through it, too. So I asked the doctor to give you the pills even before a final diagnosis.”

“Without being sure of what I have?” Betty feels her throat hurt, eyes filled with tears just like her mother’s. “Mom. It’s… This could be poisoning me, Mom. This could have killed me. How could you—”

“I didn’t want you to hurt yourself, Elizabeth! I didn’t want you to lose your mind like your sister did. The doctor said that the lithium would help with taming whatever could go wrong and you did great for so long, I never thought—”

“I wasn’t _doing great_! I _was_ losing it, you just didn’t notice. I need to see a new doctor,” she states with confidence. She _needs_ a second opinion aside from her mother and the doctor who oversaw Polly for years, a medical advisor under Alice’s thumb for so long. “It’s time for them to talk to me to find out what’s going on. You can’t deny me the care I need to get a proper diagnosis,” she says. “I want to face this head on, and not hide it away like you did with Polly.”

She blows out a breath, a weight lifted at the heavy thoughts finally poured out to her mom after so long of keeping them pent up inside. Alice sniffs, the tip of her nose red as she nods. “Ok. I’ll—we’re going to pick a new doctor. And we’re going to see this through, together.”

“And I want to see my sister.” Betty looks up at her mom. “It’s been almost a year. I want to see how Polly is and to be there for her. We can help each other, Mom.”

“Does anyone need something?” Her father pops his head in gently, smiling at both girls on the bed. “Hey, are we ok?”

The three of them exchange looks, blue eyes imploring the green. Betty decides to say something that will hold everyone in the room accountable. “Dad, I need to get better. I don’t want to go through any of this again. And I need you guys to pick my side for once. Is that ok? Can I count on you?”

Hal’s expression is delicate, of concern and regret and something very _soft_ underneath it all. “Honey, of course you can.” He comes closer and sits on the bed on her other side. “We love you.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder. Betty closes her eyes and leans into her dad’s embrace, letting the tears fall.

“Ok.” Veronica puts her phone back in her purse. “We’re set. Donna says she only needs fifteen minutes to make it happen.”

“Just in time for us to get there.” Reggie nods.

“Are we taking the subway?” Jughead asks but soon realizes it was a dumb question as both Reggie and Veronica look at him in disbelief. “Never mind.”

Reggie’s goddamn _limo_ is parked when they cross and his driver is already waiting for them by the curb. He and Veronica step in first while Jughead clambers in behind them.

It’s not how he imagined his Tuesday afternoon going. The back of the limo is probably almost as big as Jellybean’s room and the leather smells and feels good. He has a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking that this is the sort of thing Betty is used to — it’s not really possible for him to compete.

Jughead looks briefly at Reggie and Veronica sitting across from him. Reggie seems nervous about something and the girl reaches out a supportive hand, squeezing his knee and giving him a reassuring smile. They communicate easily with their eyes and Jughead has little time to feel even more like an outsider when they pull over farther North on Park Avenue in front of a luxurious looking apartment complex.

“Well, well,” a girl’s voice calls once they step foot in the building’s penthouse. Jughead follows Reggie and Veronica out of the elevator and his gaze zeroes in Donna Sweett, proclaimed St. Bernard’s _queen_. She’s a lot like Veronica in many ways — pretty, petite and apparently very sharp. “It’s been a while since someone from Spence called code thirteen. If I’m not mistaken…Sophomore year, when _you_ disappeared to only God knows where.”

 _Code thirteen._ Jughead knows very little of how the school hierarchy works but he has a vague idea that this is the _truce code_ , when queens from different schools help each other towards a common goal.

Veronica tilts her head up. Reggie, right behind her, shoves his hands into his pockets and looks more and more like a bodyguard. Jughead takes off his beanie before the girl has a chance to look at it with disgust. “Sweett. Thank you for answering promptly,” Veronica says, and Jughead almost rolls his eyes with how fake she sounds. “I believe you have what I asked for.”

“Yes,” Donna sniffs with a flip of her dark hair. “Follow me.”

They make their way into her sitting room where a tall girl with short, bouncy curls, identified as Ethel Muggs, is waiting. There’s a tray with tea and cookies in front of her. Jughead can see her eyes nervously flitting around the room.

“What’s this about?” She asks, looking at the newcomers.

Jughead can’t imagine what kind of a reign Donna Sweett leads at her school, but the girl looks terrified and if she wasn’t here to confess what happened with Betty, he’d almost feel bad for her.

Donna shoots Veronica a look, and the former Queen walks to the forefront.

“My best friend, _Betty Cooper._ We saw you in the pictures and you may recognize Reggie here, the contact you called.” They gather around Donna’s coffee table, tension palpable, as Veronica keeps going. “We want to know what exactly happened leading up to that.”

Ethel’s eyes grow round, almost concerning, as she takes in the group. “I don’t really know her,” she’s quick to say.

“I have reasons to believe someone tried to drug my friend, and if it was _you_ or anyone _you know_ , you better start spilling if you don’t want me to personally boot you off this island with the spiked heel of my Louboutin.”

Ethel’s eyes widen. Jughead crosses his arms in front of his chest, observing.

“We first met her at Saks. She was buying a lot of stuff and asked me and my friends if we wanted something to match our outfits. She bought us bracelets, earrings, she was talking fast but we thought she was just excited to be shopping. My friend asked if she wanted to come to this party and she said yes. We all liked her, she seemed like a cool girl.”

“And at the party?” Veronica asks with a bite.

Ethel sighs, nervous. “She was ripping shots and dancing. Someone offered us some E…you know how it is. She took it, said she wanted to really let loose. After an hour or so, I could tell something wasn’t right. She started searching for—well, for someone named _Reggie_.”

She glances quickly at the said boy. Jughead clenches his jaw and looks down.

“Next thing I knew I saw this other girl talking to her and she was freaking out because Betty had passed out.” She wrings her hands in her lap. “I went over there to help, we tried calling a few contacts and then talked to you,” she addresses Reggie again. “And he came. Said he was taking her to the hospital.”

Jughead grimaces, heart beating faster. He can’t imagine Betty in such a state. What would have happened if Ethel called him instead of Reggie? Would he have even answered the phone?

They look to Reggie, then. He nods his head solemnly. “That adds up.”

“She took the pills herself. I swear, we like to go wild but no one—we take care of each other. We believe in consent.”

Veronica looks perplexed, worrying her lip between her teeth and he can sense she’s trying to put other pieces together like he is. She looks at him and then at Reggie.

“Any further questions?” Donna asks her Spence-Stonewall guests.

They all shake their heads, computing this revelation.

“You can go now, Muggs.” Donna says with a snap.

The girl gets up to leave, scurrying past them, but Veronica extends a hand to Ethel’s arm. “Thank you,” she says. “For helping her.”

Ethel nods and smiles before seeing herself out. Veronica takes a deep breath and Reggie places a hand on her shoulder.

“Would anyone care for a refreshment?” Donna asks, signaling the tray on the coffee table.

“I’ll pass.” Veronica sighs, tired. Jughead, who had been eyeing the cookies, feels a little disappointed. “Thank you as well, Sweett.”

“Anytime.” Donna's smile is _way_ too sweet to be real, dimples on her cheeks. “Although, shouldn’t Blossom be informed of a royal house call?”

“Let me handle Cheryl,” Veronica says.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the other girl narrows her eyes slightly. In a bizarre moment of mutual confusion, Jughead and Reggie exchange a weird glance.

“Let’s go boys,” Veronica clutches at Reggie’s arm.

“Always a pleasure, Sweett.” Mantle offers her a wink over his shoulder.

“Always. Nice meeting you,” Donna tells _him_. Jughead didn’t think she had even noticed he was around until now, when she gives him one of those too sweet, dimpled smiles. “Jughead Jones.”

Jughead spares her a second glance, not doing a very good job hiding his surprise of the rival prep school’s monarch knowing his name.

Reggie’s driver dropped Jughead back off at the coffee shop. They discussed the situation briefly after leaving Donna’s, but the only conclusion was that they needed to hear it from Betty. Reggie seemed like he wanted to say _more_ but stopped himself because of Jughead’s presence. However, when they’re alone again, Reggie doesn’t give away anything new. He just thinks that she is the right person to get to the bottom of it all.

The limo takes her to the Cooper’s brownstone, where she briefly hugs Reggie goodbye. She’s warmly greeted by Betty’s dad, who looks to be doing better with his daughter home.

She walks the familiar stairs to Betty’s bedroom without any interference from Alice. Hal did say she drank some gin before lying down even though it’s barely eight.

The door is cracked and Veronica walks in, spotting her best friend curled up on her bed. She smiles at her yellow bouquet, only slightly wilting atop her wicker desk.

“Hey you,” she says gently, making her way to lie with Betty over the floral comforter, kicking off her heels.

“Hi. It’s good to see you.” The blonde smiles and turns to fully face her. From the way her nose is pink and her eyes are red-rimmed, Veronica can see that there’s been some tears.

Veronica plays with a limp golden curl, looking at her friend and so ready to _talk._ She takes a deep breath. She’s exhausted. It feels like she hasn’t stopped for the past seventy-two hours.

“Did you…remember anything? Of what happened at the party?” Veronica asks in a soft voice.

“Not really.” Betty shakes her head. “A lot from the past couple of weeks is just a mess in my head. The last thing I remember from Saturday is…making out with Reggie at his place.” Her cheeks turn pink when Veronica raises an eyebrow. “We got into an argument, I left and then I don’t know. There’s just flashes of things.”

“We spoke to the girl who helped you. She said you took the E yourself. Do you think that’s true?” Veronica wills herself to remain patient.

“I wouldn’t put it past me. I...I felt like nothing could stop me. I knew something was wrong because I didn’t eat or sleep all that much for two entire weeks and still...I just wanted to _live_.” There’s something wistful in the way Betty’s eyes light up, before casting down again. “I don’t know how else I can explain it.”

Veronica can see she’s trying, but sending there’s so much more she’s not telling her. “What’s going on, B? I want to help you but—”

“Last summer. A while before you came back,” Betty turns over, facing the ceiling, “I found out my parents were lying to me about why Polly didn’t come home from Brown. My mom went through serious _lengths_ to hide everything from me and I _knew_ something was wrong. I snooped until I found out she wasn’t joining a sorority or any of the bullshit they were feeding me. She’s schizophrenic.”

Veronica’s heart constricts at that, watching her friend’s face fall as she recounts what happened to her sister. She reaches out a soothing hand along Betty’s forearm. “B.”

“She had a psychotic breakdown earlier in the summer,” Betty continues. “My parents got her admitted to a mental facility upstate. After I found out, I got more and more anxious, and my mom started taking me to all these doctors and… next thing I knew, I started taking some meds. I didn’t really pay attention to them until recently, I just did what I was told. As usual.”

Veronica swallows this information, still having a hard time comprehending that the Coopers just sent their eldest daughter _away_ — all while hiding it from Betty. But she can’t help but wonder. “Do you have it, too?”

Betty shakes her head, a tear slipping down the side of her face. “My mom says I don’t. That I haven’t been properly diagnosed with anything. We agreed,” she sniffs, “we agreed to go to a new doctor and see where this takes me. I… I never felt _normal_ , V. But I don’t know what it is.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when all of this went down. I—if I had known, I—I’m so sorry, B.” Veronica spits out a slew of apologies and regrets, wishing now more than ever that she’d been here for her.

Betty scoots closer, nestling into the crook of Veronica’s neck and shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere now, are you?”

“No. You’re stuck with me.” She kisses Betty’s forehead, running her fingers through soft, blonde hair. “Forever.” They link their pinky fingers.

After some silence, Veronica takes a deep breath. “Does anyone else know?”

“Just Archie.”

Veronica nods and they stay quiet for another moment. It makes sense that Archie would know, since they were still together last summer. Betty suddenly lifts her head to make eye contact.

“ _Speaking of Archie_ , I was catching up with the Blue and Gold and I saw you two were getting quite chummy in Central Park and then at a bar…”

“Oh God.” Veronica hides her suddenly flushed face on Betty’s shoulder. “We had a moment, yeah,” she admits. “Of course the universe interrupted it, but still—”

“ _A moment?_ What kind of moment?”

“A _nice_ moment. We were just hanging out, having fun, talking and then we… We almost kissed.” Veronica bites her lip. It’s the first time she’s allowing her mind to drift to what could’ve happened with Archie had everything not fallen apart on Saturday night. She remembers his warm eyes and the look on his face, the way he said _only one girl_ , the way he parted his lips _._ Her blood warms up like it did then.

Betty squirms beside her, making an excited little noise to go with it. “Veronica Lodge. Are you telling me that _finally_ , after _months_ , you are allowing yourself to go there?”

There’s a rush of nerves that flow through her, but wanting to be transparent with Betty while also knowing it’s alright. No more skirting these issues. “Would you be ok with that?”

She nods her head with encouragement, pink lips set in a reassuring smile. “Of course I would, V. I told you before. I was never lying.”

“I… I obviously still have feelings for him. And I think I’m ready, B. I think I’m ready to… Just try.” It’s empowering to voice these feelings aloud.

“Ok, now tell me more about what happened. How exactly did you guys _almost_ kiss?”

“Well, believe it or not we just bumped into each other on the street…” Veronica regales, heart fluttering at the memory of his confused face.

“You _always_ say that’s why you love New York,” Betty giggles, cuddling closer.

Veronica feels like she’s a young teenage girl again, sprawled on Betty’s bed while they talk about boys and clothes and all the gossip at school. Even with all the mistakes she’s made, she’s lucky that this is where they ended up leading her.

* * *

_new york has often been sung as a place where dreams come true. but on the upper east side, it doesn’t quite work like that._

_sometimes, no matter how much you think you’re owed your happy ending, it doesn’t come. or, sometimes, it comes in a way you never expected it to._

* * *

After three days of repeating these motions, it’s still weird for Jughead to be the one unlocking the Register’s office and turning on the light each morning. He’s so used to seeing Betty at her desk when he gets there, smiling when he’d casually set a fresh vanilla latte near her laptop — even in the past weeks, when they were obviously avoiding each other.

There are so many questions in his head after the talk with Ethel Muggs. The Betty she described _did not_ seem like the Betty he got to know so well, and if he really stops to think about it… maybe the Betty that he got into that fight with wasn’t acting like herself, either.

He walks towards her desk and takes the name plate in his hand, running a thumb over the letter B. A knock on the open door yanks him out of his thoughts and he turns around, startled, when he sees the girl on his mind standing in the doorway.

“Betty. Hey,” his voice comes out a little strangled, the pressure behind his eyes increasing as he takes her in. She’s wearing what looks like the softest white cardigan and navy jeans, her hair up as usual, and he has the impulse of walking to her and _holding her_ , but something keeps his feet planted on the ground. “How—how are you?”

She walks into the office with careful steps, clutching on to the strap of her backpack slung over her shoulder. “I’m ok. I’m gonna be ok. I’ll be back fully next week,” she says sheepishly, and leaves the backpack on his desk, since he’s standing by hers. “Veronica told me you helped her when she was trying to figure out what happened to me at the party.”

“Of course I did, Betts.” His voice breaks a little, internally reprimanding himself at the careless drop of her nickname. Even though she was making out with some other guy just a few days ago, Jughead doesn’t have it in him to feel bitter anymore. He’s just glad she’s alive and it squashes any of the hostile feelings he’d experienced ever since. “I was really worried about you,” he says. “We all were.”

Betty nods and he can see that she’s searching for what she’s going to say next. “Jug… I am really sorry that I switched dates to Cotillion without warning. I was trying to please everyone and I didn’t—I didn’t consider your feelings. I never meant to hurt you. In the beginning I actually thought you’d be pleased.”

He shakes his head vehemently. She probably still doesn’t know about all of the things her mother told him, “Betts, don’t—I don’t… I was wrong, too. You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you’re here and that you’re ok.”

Cotillion and all of those other places, he’s always felt out of his comfort zone, but here, in the paper’s office, has always been their place. And it feels fitting to be honest with each other on this neutral ground.

Betty takes a couple of steps towards him, getting closer. Jughead’s heart starts beating faster inside his chest. “I’m gonna need to step away from the Register for a while,” she says, quietly. “I need to focus on myself and on what happened. Do you think you can keep the paper running for a bit?”

She extends her hands in front of him, slowly uncurling her fingers. Jughead sees red marks all over the white skin, sharp crescent indentations that look so painful and fresh. Jughead looks up at her and notices her green eyes are full of tears.

“Something is very wrong with me and it makes me do these crazy things,” she murmurs. “And I’m gonna have to work on that.”

Looking at the scars on her hands and wondering what could have happened to make her do that to herself, Jughead is taken over by a feeling he didn’t even know he _could_ feel. He misses her as his… girlfriend, or whatever they were on the brink of becoming, but more than that, he wants her to be well. And happy. He wants to do anything in his power to protect her and—

And love her.

With his own eyes welling, he carefully cups her hands with his, closing them together and bringing them to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her fingers. “Whatever you need.”

Betty is wearing a soft smile when he looks up again, despite her wet lashes. Slowly, she removes her hands from him and reaches out to touch his face with her thumb, a caress that melts him from inside out. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t touch him again or say anything else. Stepping away, Betty grabs her backpack and looks at him one more time as she walks out the door. “Jug?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand over his face.

“Just don’t find out who the Blue and Gold is without me,” she says with a smile and a wink.

Jughead chuckles. She’s never going to give up on that, will she?

* * *

_the truth is, we make our own fortunes and then call them fate. and what better excuse to choose the wrong path than to insist that our dreams aren’t actually our destiny?_

* * *

It’s a beautiful spring afternoon, Archie notices as he hustles out to the field after quickly changing into his lacrosse gear, helmet tucked under his arm. The sun is setting in a warm hue. Lately, practice has been rough and their Coach has been relentless, driving them towards a championship come May.

He’s earlier than the rest of the team, intending to run a few laps to warm up but stops in his tracks when he sees her. His heart plummets to his stomach and his hands are instantly clammy.

Veronica looks beautiful, as she usually does, though slightly out of place, standing by the field on her phone. The golden sunset plays off her skin beautifully, making her glow. In the past few days, as much as he’s tried to avoid it, thoughts of her have creeped into his mind every other minute.

Of her and of what would’ve happened on Saturday night, had they not been interrupted by destiny.

“Archiekins!” She greets with a smile on her berry-colored lips. It feels like a knife to his chest as he approaches her, trying to smile back. “Hi. I've been waiting here for you.”

There’s a very, very low, bitter voice in the back of his brain that says _isn’t that a first_ , but he doesn’t really listen to it. He wets his lips briefly. “Here I am. How are you?”

She stands on her heels, coming closer to him as she tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, almost bashful. “I’m ok. Kind of tired after the whole… You know. I really focused on being there for Betty and figuring out some stuff. That was so scary.”

He nods in understanding, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. Not that it’s anything new — _being there for Betty_ is what Veronica has been doing since she’s returned. Something _he_ really _hasn’t_ done at all, despite his latest promises.

“It’s been settled that I’m going to help her out with whatever is going on. And if Alice Cooper even _tries_ to shut me out, she’s going to learn that she should never cross a Lodge.” She sticks her perky nose up in the air and it makes Archie’s smile widen. “I also volunteered to help with the paper, while she steps back. Jughead said he doesn’t need any help but I believe the press shouldn’t be one person’s responsibility. Besides, I think I can handle it.”

He chuckles despite the lump in his throat. “Of course you can. You’re amazing.”

She shrugs one of her shoulders adorably. “I guess there’s only one more thing left to resolve.” She looks up at him. The sunlight makes her eyes even brighter, a cinnamon shade instead of the deep brown he’s used to.

Archie takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think she would seek him out to talk if she didn’t know exactly what she wants to say, but he has something on his mind, too. It’s been racking through him, a mix of remorse and regret that he hasn’t been able to shake.

He exhales slowly. It feels so dumb because he loves this girl and all he’s been determined not to let his heart crack everytime he laid eyes on her and couldn’t have her, but now…

As if the universe needed to throw him _one more sign_ , he sees Reggie emerging from the locker room with some other team members, casting him a wary eye. They haven’t really spoken since the argument at the hospital.

“Ronnie, I—” Archie starts. She sees Reggie and the other guys over her shoulder, and there’s a slight crease between her eyebrows when she looks back at him. “This thing with Betty, it really was scary. She could’ve died.”

“Yeah. I know.” She shakes her head with a lip between her teeth.

“And I keep thinking… It keeps coming back to me, you know? What if Reggie wasn’t trying to reach out to her? What if they had only tried to call… Us… and never got an answer?”

There’s an unreadable expression on her heart-shaped face, but seemingly listening to his words with rapt attention. Her gaze feels heavy on him and he just _needs_ to get this out.

“A few months ago, at the Masquerade Ball, you—you said that we hurt people when we’re together. And I have to tell you that I—I agreed with you then but I’d never really _felt it_ , you know? I was really disappointed. And angry. I thought you were running away from us again. That—that it was just an excuse because you didn’t want to be with me. That you chose her instead of me.” He is breathing so hard, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Archie—” she protests but he cuts her off.

“And it hurt me for the longest time but now I _understand_ , Ronnie. I see what you meant. Our best friend could’ve died and we wouldn’t even know. We forget about everything and everyone when we’re together, we—we become bad, selfish people. And I don’t want to be that person either.”

Veronica looks down for a moment. When she looks at him again, there’s nothing in her expression that betrays her except for the way her eyes are shining even more, widening, which could be a trick from the sun. She tilts her chin up and her lips curve softly, a stiff nod of her head.

“You’re right. In fact, this is what I came to tell you. We had a moment — a beautiful, but fleeting moment — and we shouldn’t let it get between all the amazing progress we’ve made so far.”

_Oh._

Archie doesn’t know why this answer catches him off guard. It’s not like he was _expecting_ Veronica to say something else, not consciously, at least. Could it be possible that maybe, deep down, he’d been waiting for her to prove him wrong and tell him that _no, this is not what it was, I want to be with you just as much as you want to be with me, it’s finally our time_ , _finally now_?

He scratches the back of his neck. He’s an idiot for feeling any type of disappointment but it hits him like a sledgehammer. “Yeah,” he manages to mutter.

Veronica looks to her side, to where the boys are gathered in the field, talking.

“So,” she holds her breath inside her chest for a second, looking back at him, “friends?”

Archie nods. Perhaps this is exactly what they need from each other. _Be friends_ , for real, with no what ifs hanging over their heads, as much as it hurts to let go of that dream. He manages a smile that soon turns into a grin. If this is what she wants and if this is what’ll turn a mess into something good, then he’s definitely in.

“Always.”

For once Reggie’s words do rise to the surface, remembering how heartbroken he’d sounded but knowing that he didn’t want a life without Veronica in it. And that makes perfect sense to him now. He can’t imagine that it’d be a very fulfilling life to lose her entirely. Not that he ever had her in the first place.

“Right.” She smiles too brightly for the heaviness of their conversation. “I’ll leave you to it. Go Bulldogs!”

He chuckles, amused by her halfhearted effort of a cheer.

“See you, Archie.”

“Bye, Ronnie.”

It may remain his greatest form of torture, damned to watch her walk away for the rest of his life, but he does anyway. She waves to Reggie and the guys before her hair catches in the wind, tossing Archie a quick glance and another soft smile over her shoulder as she goes.

* * *

_but at the end of the day we all have to live with our choices, no matter who is looking over our shoulder._

* * *

Her feet carry her to 86th street, to a building much simpler than the ones she’s used to visiting. She’s been here a few times and the concierge doesn't feel the need to announce her, greeting her with a friendly smile.

A few minutes later, Veronica is faced with the familiar door of the apartment. She holds up a trembling hand before she can second guess herself and knocks determinedly. Her vision is slightly blurry and there’s a painful migraine threatening to settle between her eyes.

The door swings open and she’s met with a bewildered Kevin Keller, gaping at her from inside. There’s no coldness in his eyes, only concern.

“Veronica?”

“I know you hate me after what happened with Elio, and I know you can’t just forgive me,” she hiccups ungracefully. “But I—I need you, Kev.”

Before a second can pass and she can register the look on Kevin’s face, his arms are wrapped around her tightly. “V. Oh, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

The scent of Kevin’s t-shirt makes Veronica break down in violent sobs, holding on to him with a death grip, the weight of the past few days finally knocking her down.

She doesn’t know how long she cries while Kevin smoothes down her hair, but it’s a while until she can speak, her face muffled against his chest.

She waited too long. Between Betty and Cheryl and all the things they didn’t say to each other. She was too late.

“Archie doesn’t want me anymore.”

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go and yell at us, think about the ending montage that The CW didn't film for us:
> 
> **Say (All I Need) by OneRepublic has started playing since the end of the BH scene, and now it comes back 🎶** _to Betty having dinner with her folks, soft smiles being exchanged. Jughead looks seriously at the pile of papers with the Blue and Gold investigation they started to work on before all of this happened. Archie helps Reggie get up on the field and they exchange a meaningful look. Hermione takes her phone but sees there are no new messages from FP. Kevin holds Veronica tight as she cries and seems concerned. What will happen from here? How can thinks look up again? What will become of our favorites? Does anything last on the Upper East Side?_
> 
> We know it's a lot to take in and one particular team must be angry at us, but don't stop trusting us! How's team Bughead doing? And the team Beggies that came out unexpectedly? Nothing is over until we say it is. And the last chapter of this fic is coming up!
> 
> Here's the soundtrack:
> 
>   * One Republic - Say [All I Need] (theme song/ending song)
>   * M83 - Too Late (kids in the hospital)
>   * Arctic Monkeys - Snap Out of It (morning with the joneses)
>   * No Doubt - Don't Speak! (formione)
>   * Phoenix - If I Ever Feel Better (the blend scene)
>   * Unknown Mortal Orchestra - So Good at Being in Trouble (scene at donna's)
>   * Ingrid Michaelson - The Way I Am (betty and veronica <3)
> 


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [whatever you like](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014038) by [andsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsmile/pseuds/andsmile), [monicaposh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicaposh/pseuds/monicaposh)




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